The Gray Lands
by Thorntons
Summary: The dividing line between good and evil is blurred, what will Teresa Lisbon make of it all?
1. Chapter 1: First Impressions

**Chapter 1: First impressions**

Of course she'd read the files and seen the photographs of him in his heyday, but nevertheless Agent Lisbon entered the room with a degree of trepidation, not knowing quite what to expect. The untamed hair was longer than the slicked back style of the images she'd previously seen, but far from diminishing from his appearance, it afforded a boyish air to him. Unexpectedly playful blue green eyes danced with excitement as Lisbon took the seat on the other side of the table. Jane leant forward in his chair with an air of expectation, relishing the prospect of a new challenge.

Having been reduced to alternately terrorising and charming the limited pool of people who'd been looking after him, he was looking forward to some mental stimulation. Tired of the institutional garb, Jane had insisted on dressing for the occasion. Rather than making an issue out of the matter and risking a dangerous mood change, his whims had been catered for. Naturally he hadn't missed Lisbon's double check, when she first opened the door and was greeted by a dazzling smile. He could still turn the charm on when it suited him.

Lisbon was uncharacteristically nervous, although she'd been warned what to expect, she was still surprised when Jane assumed a casual familiarity and started calling her by her first name. Jane sniffed the air appreciatively "Umm subtle but spicy, a modern woman's fragrance that transcends the obvious overtones of sentimentality in favour of a chronicle of flux and discovery. A present no doubt. A practical woman like you would never spend that much money on a luxury item. A niche or custom fragrance n'est-ce pas?"

Lisbon knew all about his party trick, but was impressed nevertheless. "Perfume workshop, it was blended especially for me."

Jane leant back in his chair, content that he had set the right tone for the session with a demonstration of his prowess. Of course it wasn't all he'd noticed, his eyes had raked appreciatively over her form when she came in. Her slight but perfectly proportioned frame was by no means stripped of its femininity by the utilitarian pantsuit and scoop necked top. The habit of playing with the cross round her neck immediately conveyed that this was something of meaning to her, and that was consigned to the memory palace for future reference. With her hair pulled back into a small bun at the nape of her neck, and minimal makeup, she was unfussy but approachable.

His eyes crinkled in amusement, as she psyched herself up by shuffling her papers for the umpteenth time, readying herself to make the first move. Lisbon inhaled deeply, pulling herself up straight. "I believe you know why I'm here Mr Jane, shall we get started?" She glanced down at the grisly dossier containing the redacted case notes of the ten known murders, largely women, all characterised by the killer's distinctive calling card.

"What's the rush Teresa, we've barely exchanged pleasantries?" Jane's voice said persuasively.

Knocked off her stride, a little furrow appeared between Lisbon's brows, not entirely sure how to cope with the situation. Lisbon had been forewarned about this, and had been told not to be drawn into to his mind games, but it was easier said than done.

It was instinctive on her part to jump when he reached out and took her wrist; she tried in vain to disguise it. Not being overly tactile at the best of times, her first reaction was to draw back, but she guessed it was one of his tricks and it was better to affect disinterest. She knew all too well the purpose of his rough thumb pad slowly rubbing her pulse point, and she summoned all her will to bring her heart rate back under control.

Of course he'd seen her reaction and a self satisfied smile crossed his face. "So the perfume workshop, it must have been a very good friend?"

"I really think we need to concentrate on matters in hand."Lisbon's attempts at deflection made no difference. A chink in her armour had been exposed and would be ruthlessly exploited.

"Ah, I see you're no longer together. The possessive type I would guess, tried to take control of your life... No, you wouldn't like that." No words were spoken for what felt like an eternity, but were in fact just seconds, while his eyes seem to delve into the deepest recesses of her psyche, teasing out involuntary responses, scything through her defences at will. "Ooh that serious" He quirked his lips speculatively. "Even introduced you to Mother to see if you were bride material."

A flash of fire behind Lisbon's eyes told Jane everything he needed to know. The memory of that particular episode was still an open wound; she'd been made to feel like a piece of white trash having her past and connections raked over. Lisbon prided herself on making her own way in the world and wasn't going to be looked down on by anyone.

Sheepdip! This was just what she had been warned about, letting him get inside her head.

Jane relinquished hold of her hand and sat back comfortably in his chair. The soft lighting and comfortable chairs had been carefully chosen to create a benign ambience conducive to conversation, quite the opposite of the CBI where suspects were deliberately made to feel off kilter. There was no doubt that Jane was savouring her obvious discomfiture. Her opening gambit had been met by a solid defence, and like a chess master Jane was slowly sweeping up her attacking pieces. With his elbow resting on the table, his fore finger lightly tapped on his closed lips as he contemplated his next move.

Mustering all her determination, Lisbon attempted to bring attention back to the case files. The parameters she was working within had been strictly defined; she was not to directly challenge him, or spell things out to him. Although Lisbon could act upon any knowledge gained, any statements could not be used as evidence, as the courts would almost certainly rule that any waiver of his Miranda rights was neither knowing nor intelligent.

The first case file was discussed in a purely abstract way, like an academic would consider a case from all perspectives. The gruesome details were withheld, not wishing to precipitate a shock reaction, but photographs of the victims in happier times allowed Jane to do a cold read on them. She was led to believe he would have no prior knowledge of events, but his perceptive insights made her speculate how he could glean so much from case notes alone? There hadn't been a flicker of recognition when confronted with the images of the victims; listening to his pithy observations would have been ironic, if it hadn't been so downright weird.

It was all too easy to see how he could make people dance to his tune at will, he conducted himself with aplomb. Disturbingly even Lisbon wasn't totally immune, the room suddenly felt claustrophobic. She played with the collar of her jacket feeling flushed in the oppressive atmosphere; her heightened senses making her uncomfortably aware of his animal magnetism.

Deep down she knew she should hate him, but there was a curious attraction to him, despite her better nature she couldn't help being drawn in by the mellifluous tones and measured cadence as he cast his spell. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to remind herself why she was there. For all her deep rooted cynicism, she was oddly affected by the charlatan before her. On an intellectual level she knew it was just a game to him, the way he stared into her eyes was just a charade, the apparent concern being just a smoke screen allowing him to pry. He's very much a false prophet, a ravening wolf disguised in sheep's clothing.

And yet despite knowing all this, his charm offensive felt very real. He regaled her with an amusing anecdote, boyish mischief written all over his face. Very much against her better instinct she smiled.

"You should do that more often." Lisbon tried to ignore the blatant flattery. "Smile. It lights up your face – you have a little dimple just there." Jane touched her cheek by way of explanation.

Another nervous smile instinctively followed, her self control was all over the place. He had really finagled his way under her guards.

A tap on the window alerted her that their time was nearly up, with frustration she realised she had nothing to show for it. Any attempts to bring his attention back to the case files were futile; he started to look weary and distant.

"I've got to go now Mr Jane, but I'll be back before long." The intention had been to wrap it up in one visit, but it was obviously going take longer than that. Lisbon glanced back over her shoulder as she left the room; you wouldn't have a clue if you hadn't read the case files. The shackles round the ankles were the only sign that something was terribly wrong with the situation.

She took a last look through the observation panel, but ever the consummate performer Jane wasn't going to make a rookie mistake like that. Well aware of her presence, he nonchalantly brushed some invisible fluff off his arm, while casting a surreptitious look toward the observation window. A flicker of a smile briefly crossed his face. Lisbon couldn't be sure who the smile was aimed at, as Dr Miller was watching Jane just as intently as Lisbon.

"How can it be possible he remembers nothing?" Lisbon kept her eyes on the subject as she asked the question.

Never one to tolerate fools, Dr Miller bridled slightly, resenting her professional judgement being called into question. "With dissociative disorders, memory loss of the events of certain time periods and people is not unknown."

"But his wife and child, surely he must remember something?" It seemed inconceivable to Lisbon that anyone could completely wipe the slate clean like that; surely there should be some vestige of memory?

"They never existed as far as he is concerned, nothing happened." Dr Miller just shrugged matter of factly, tiring of having to answer to the uninitiated. "I'll email a paper I've written on the subject to your office, it may help you understand."

Lisbon spotted the voice recorder on the desk in the observation room. "Did you record that session?"

"We always do as a matter of course, but those are just my observations on the interview for my private use. I really don't know what you hope to get out of these visits Agent Lisbon, Patrick has no memory of what happened." Miller slipped the recorder into her pocket, there was no way anyone was having access to that; her observations were strictly for her benefit.

Sensing she was being dismissed, Lisbon left without further ado. Sophie Miller turned off the recorder before making her way into the room. "All done now Patrick. How are you feeling?"

"I'm so tired of it all Sophie, why do they keep asking me questions?" He leant his head against her her side, and she ruffled his hair comfortingly.

"I'll see what I can do to stop it, if you want." Miller had misgivings about amateurs bumbling into territory they didn't understand.

Jane paused for a moment. "No, I'll see her again she interests me." He noticed Miller's face fall slightly, and smiled sardonically."You're not jealous are you?"

Miller started laughing. "Oh Patrick, what have I got to be jealous of? You're sorely mistaken if you think Agent Lisbon is your friend, that couldn't be further away from the truth. Just be careful around her Patrick."

She motioned for the attendants to take him away; he was in good humour today he'd enjoyed sparring with Agent Lisbon.

* * *

Eschewing her usual glass of red wine in favour of keeping a clear head Lisbon ploughed through the paper that Dr Miller had tossed to her as a consolation prize. She suspected Miller thought it would be above her head, but Lisbon was well versed in criminal psychology and had carried her interest on well beyond what was technically required of her. The concepts were not unknown to her, but her incredulity had been based on the unblinking nature of Jane's demeanour. Either he was the best actor she had ever met, or he really didn't understand what was going on.

She prided herself on her judgement but she really struggled to reconcile the irrefutable facts with the man she had met today. Berating herself for allowing him to dictate the terms of the encounter, she knew that Jane had manipulated her totally, yet still she hadn't felt remotely threatened. It was as if he were just playing a game with her, he wanted to engage with her, to have a new sparring partner. In retrospect Lisbon had to concede that she hadn't put up that much of a challenge, the man had pulled her strings from the moment she sat down.

That ability to bedazzle people with such devastating charm would be a potent and perilous combination, when coupled with murderous intent. Of course they had a label for his condition, they had a label for everything these days, it was called dissociative identity disorder. Allegedly he wasn't aware of what had happened, his alter ego, the flip side of the coin, was supposedly the guilty party.

On reflection, perhaps Lisbon had learned more than she first realised. If Jane could manipulate her so easily, what was to say that he wasn't manipulating them all? Maybe there was no alter ego, just one person, no John, just Patrick. Could evil really be so ordinary, that it could share people's beds and eat at their tables without them knowing? And yet a serial killer had held her hand and she'd felt no particular revulsion or fear? She'd always imagined that in those circumstances her skin would crawl, but if she the most cynical of people, fully aware of his history, was flummoxed by it all - just imagine how less world weary people might react.

It wasn't just women he could charm; she'd seen the way he'd wrapped the male orderly around his little finger, asking about his family, making him feel like he had the full focus of Jane's attention, when undoubtedly Jane was simply laying the preparations for some future scheme.

She'd been in this game long enough to know there was a fine line between good and evil. Weak people may venture across the line, lacking the strength to walk away, without being inherently evil. But murdering your own family and then erasing all memory of them was a completely different matter.

These days alleged insanity wasn't reason enough for avoiding a murder charge - the law had been changed on that count to a strict mens rea approach, under the diminished actuality defense. The role of the psychiatrist was diminished and they could no longer pass opinion on whether the accused harboured intent. In practice it meant that a lower severity charge, perhaps manslaughter or second degree murder, was sometimes levied to guarantee conviction.

It was important to Lisbon to understand whether this was just an act of self preservation or whether Patrick Jane was really unaware of his alter ego's proclivities. The shrink wasn't exactly being helpful, even the most basic enquiries were being knocked to the outfield. The basic profile she'd compiled just gave a flimsy outline of his condition and background.

Apparently there was no surviving family, his mother died in childbirth as had his identical twin. The names Patrick and John had been allocated in haste. It was immaterial to Jane's father, Alex, what his son was called in the aftermath of his wife's death, he'd never warmed to the surviving child who could just as easily have been John as Patrick, in the end he became both. Secretly taking refuge into which ever personality suited him best at the time, although it was invisible to the outside world, who just shrugged at his occasional loss of control putting it down to little more than bad temperament.

From the outset the urbane front hid a cynicism in his dealings with others; while not necessarily illegal, his actions were certainly unethical. After all it was impossible to categorically prove there was no such thing a psychics, hell some deluded souls may actually believe they were blessed with powers, but Patrick Jane had cynically exploited people's weaknesses in a callous and manipulative way.

Whatever anyone said, traces of his alter ego had leached through the invisible membrane. Client's marriages had been needlessly wrecked. Others had been so driven to despair by his revelations that they had taken their lives. None of it could be directly be laid directly at Jane's door; Teflon Paddy just breezed on, his conscience untroubled by the havoc he left in his wake.

The Jane nest had been feathered by exploiting lonely people desperately clinging to the memories of their loved ones, wanting to believe whatever they were told and willing to pay handsomely. It didn't take a huge leap of imagination to believe that a cynical streak like that was symptomatic of a basic character flaw, and this so called alter ego was nothing more than a smokescreen for something that was already there.

Away from his influence, Lisbon was starting to get more and more sceptical, suspecting that Jane comfortably occupied the gray lands between black and white and was fully cognisant of the path he was following. Lisbon would adjust her strategy accordingly, the first meeting hadn't been a complete waste of time after all, but she resolved to be better prepared next time.


	2. Chapter 2 : Double Headed Coin

**Chapter 2: The Double Headed Coin**

These late nights burning the midnight oil were starting to take their toll on Dr Miller, but she needed but to press ahead checking the drafts sent over by her typing service. There were a couple of addendums in the light of her latest observations, but apart from that everything was looking good. Of course it wasn't strictly ethical to be writing about a current patient, but Patrick Jane was such a fascinating subject that the temptation proved too much. Hopefully this would be a seminal work that she could use as a springboard to re-launch her academic career. Working as a hands on psychotherapist had its rewards, but it was emotionally draining, although she was in no rush to relinquish her role with Patrick Jane until her book was finished.

Miller didn't have the archetypal doctor patient relationship with Jane; in order to reach into his psyche it had been necessary to bare something of herself to him to establish a degree of trust. The resultant relationship was complex, sometimes fractious, other times nurturing, increasingly wary, but slowly Jane had returned to a semblance of normality – within his terms of reference at any rate.

People thought she was too close to him, but she needed the close interaction to complete her research and was by no means as pliable to his will as everyone thought. It was a fascinating case, and one she had not seen the like of before, by no means a text book scenario it had opened Miller's eyes to new possibilities. There was method to her gently, gently approach; quite apart from safeguarding the patient's well being, it bought her more time to complete her study.

It had been 4 months since Jane had been admitted to Miller's establishment, the primary objective had just been to stabilise the gibbering wreck of a man. A combination of drug therapy and later counselling rescued him from his raging soliloquy - the rantings of a lunatic, spiralling into a vortex of self pity, inexorably headed for the black hole of despondency, a place as grim as death itself.

Although there was still a long way to go, Miller rightly took some pride in seeing Jane's transformation. He was nothing like the traumatised shell of a man she'd first met, tormented by what were generally accepted to be his own actions.

No one knew what had precipitated the tragedy; by all accounts they were a devoted family but reports of a disturbance had been reported by a neighbour earlier in the day. A man had been seen leaving the Jane household, the screeching of tyres marking the hurried departure. No one had paid any attention at the time, Patrick Jane's dubious career choice occasionally backfired on him when furious husbands and partners confronted him. Apart from some raised eyebrows at his more outrageous exploits, few of his neighbours were in a position to throw stones at his career choice; as realtors and brokers they all made their living by exploiting people's dreams one way or another.

It wasn't that he had any particular designs on the women, well apart from lightening their bank accounts. He enjoyed the chase but had no interest in pursuing his conquests further; it was always about control more than anything. An incorrigible flirt at the best of times, he took refuge behind his wedding ring when things threatened to get out of hand, it was his talisman to ward off unwelcome advances and to confer a degree of respectability to him.

It hadn't escaped Miller's notice that the bond Jane strove to form with his clients was not unlike her relationship with her patients in many respects. Of course it was a fine line to tread, between getting close enough to let someone to trust you completely with their innermost thoughts, without awakening any amatory urges. Not that it did any harm if they fell a little bit in love with him, so long as it helped loosen the purse strings. Once his foot was in the door he would let them down gently, sharing little confidences about his own family to establish a safer foothold.

They were a very self contained family unit, happy in so far as outsiders could tell. No one wanted to believe the implications of the crime scene, least of all his erstwhile clients. Some tried to explain it away as some psychic phenomena, others said he must have been possessed by the spirits to commit such a demonic act. The rumour was that the poor man had been driven mad by the spirits. The wider implications of events were still not in the public domain; the police officer who'd been called in by the neighbours had realised the significance straight away, and a veil of secrecy had been imposed.

The part open front door had raised suspicions of a burglary, but experienced as the patrol officer was, he wasn't prepared for the blood fest that awaited him. At first it looked like there were three victims, with their blood soaked clothes, but the paramedics soon realised that the man curled up in a foetal position was in fact still breathing. Reluctantly the police accepted there was nothing they could do with him, and at this point Jane had entered Dr Miller's care.

Up until now Miller had never broached the subject of the crime, although ultimately it was part of her strategy, but with all the outside pressures Miller accepted she was going to have to start stepping up the pace.

Jane had accepted that he'd been ill, and with his energy reserves depleted he hadn't got the fight to question it too deeply. His memories were patchy at best, he'd assumed there had been some head trauma that had precipitated some psychological problems. Why else would he be there? The recurring headaches had started to ease off, he was becoming more alert and had started to ask Miller questions, gradually she started to fill the gaps in. The revelation that he was brought up on the Carnie circuit and had made his living as a psychic was greeted by a paroxysm of boyish laughter.

Well before Lisbon's visit the questions were becoming more pressing; although whole swathes of his memory were still blanked out there was a steady trickle of flash backs, some more disturbing than others. He remembered enough of his old ways to start honing his skills on the attendants, and already had a cornucopia of tricks at his disposal by time he first met Lisbon. Jane hadn't entirely bought the idea that she was consulting with him, there was some ruse afoot, but he decided to play along with it. She was a welcome and diverting distraction, and besides it was fun pressing her buttons. However he hadn't missed the warning tone in Sophie's words and would treat Lisbon with a degree of healthy scepticism next time around.

Ignoring Jane's request, Miller had done her best to put a stop to the visits by going above Lisbon's head. Apprised of Lisbon's suspicions, her boss backed her to the hilt, in no small part due to the Doctor's overbearing manner.

Less nervous than her first visit Lisbon turned up at the facility only to be confronted by a frosty Dr Miller. "I have grave misgivings about this, he is not ready. If you push him too far I can't guarantee his reaction. He's not ready to face up to reality yet."

Still smarting from Miller's attempts to derail their investigation Lisbon matched her coolness. "So you say Dr Miller. We'll play by your rules for now, but my bosses are clamouring for results."

Lisbon was led into the room by a young attendant."Aah, visiting time at the zoo." Jane quipped with a welcoming smile. "I suppose a nice cup of Darjeeling is out of the question Sam?"

The softly spoken attendant smiled indulgently. "I'm afraid we're rather low on Darjeeling at the moment Patrick. I can manage a glass of water if you want. Perhaps Agent Lisbon would like one? "

Lisbon shook her head by way of an answer, noting the subtle byplay between the men as Jane smiled benignly at the departing man.

"I can see by your demeanour that you're ready for business Agent Lisbon. I assume you've had your orders from the Gruppenführer." Jane cast an amused look at the observation panel. Rightly guessing there would be a clash of personalities.

Lisbon refused to dignify his comment with a response, knowing full well he would try a divide and rule tactic. Nothing would suit him better than to play one woman off against the other.

"Oh you're no fun Teresa, always so buttoned up and professional. But that's not really you at all is it? A fiery temperament is in your DNA, a relic of your tough Chicago upbringing. Second generation Irish Americans I would hazard a guess." Jane leant forward in anticipation of a response.

Lisbon couldn't entirely suppress a smile; he'd been quick off the mark today, though if she wasn't mistaken he seemed edgier this time. "Talking of heritage Mr Jane, I believe your father's family hailed from the old country. I understand you were brought up on the Carnie circuit." She affected to peer at her notes before looking at him with a smile. "The Boy Wonder no less."

"We all have our crosses to bear." He said carefully, eyeing Lisbon up warily, impressed that she'd managed to turn things back on him so deftly.

"The boy scout act must have been galling as the years went by?" Lisbon relished the fleeting look of annoyance on his face.

"What can I say, my father's sartorial choices left a lot to be desired." He affected a nonchalant shrug.

"Unlike the shiny mohair suits you prefer." Her eyebrows rose questioningly.

"Bravo Agent Lisbon, you have done your research." He instinctively ran his hand down his lapel in appreciation of the fine tailoring. "Although I wouldn't have thought the Gentleman's Gazette was your journal of choice, but I expect you can probably recite the Glock catalogue verbatim by now." There was a frisson of excitement in their sparring as their eyes locked in combat.

Lisbon blinked first. "What can I say, some people prefer Prada, but a Glock will always be my fashion accessory of choice."

"Quite the poster girl for the NRA." Jane looked her up and down in a deliberate way, hoping it would make her uncomfortable. Disappointingly she seemed more confident of her reactions this time around.

"Now that we've mentioned them, perhaps you could tell me more about your family Mr Jane." Lisbon ventured.

"I have no family." Jane responded coolly without a flicker of emotion.

"What none at all?" Lisbon persisted, imagining Miller's response to this line of questioning.

"Why are you asking me questions that you already know the answer to?" There was a trace of irritation to his voice. "I guess we're both lone wolves, although you keep your family at bay by choice. Let me guess, your parents died young and you became the prime carer. As soon as you could, you made your escape and never looked back, though you still bear the guilt of deserting your siblings." Seeing he had scored a direct hit, he couldn't resist turning the screw.

"Of course the children of addicts are always worried that the apple never falls far from the tree. You're young to be in a position like this, dedicated and hard working. Your career is your addiction and it's a cruel mistress. Determined not to fall prey to temptation, you're harder on yourself than others, memories of some dark secret haunt you.

"You certainly won't be short of attention, but don't want to encourage rumours about your private life. It's insidious when people start talking about a woman's weakness, suggesting your judgment is somehow impaired by your hormones. So your life is littered with failed liaisons, partly due to fear of commitment but also an abiding distrust of controlling men. You like to be on top, figuratively speaking."

Leaving a momentary pause for reaction, Jane flicked his tongue out over his lips like a reptile sampling the air for pheromones. Dismayed by her apparent indifference, his eyes narrowed and he unleashed a cruel barb. "Of course it's easier to keep people at a distance; you don't get hurt that way. But what will you have to show for it in 20 years time? A desultory police pension, a rundown Condo that masquerades as a home, and a rescue dog for company. Reduced to hanging round the Irish bars, bolstered by a few drinks, looking out for the occasional pickup. You're the easy lay, who asks nothing in return. The local bike, a free ride for anyone unworried by the mileage on the clock. A poor testimony for a life spent in public service."

Somewhat shell shocked by the ferocity of his own words, he sank back in his chair. Where had that come from? He nevertheless took some satisfaction from seeing her tightly pressed lips whiten with anger.

"If you've quite finished Mr Jane, shall we get back to the reason for this meeting." Lisbon declined to dignify his comments, having no intention of feeding his egotistical need for attention. She was still recoiling at the accuracy of his barbs - was that really what the future held for her?

She pulled out a few of the case files and pushed them towards him. "Perhaps you can apply your skills to something more constructive, like looking for a common thread to these cases."

"You mean apart from the victims being dead?" Now that he had started, he couldn't help but push her buttons.

"Seeing as they're victims, that's taken as read." Jane smiled at her sarcasm, grudgingly admiring the way she had ridden his assault.

Lisbon's phone vibrated in her pocket; she just ignored it, but the calls persisted. Obviously the caller was determined to speak to her, and before long the attendant Sam called her to an outside call. Reluctantly Lisbon left Jane perusing the case files; it was Minelli demanding an update. The DA's office had assigned the legendary Karen Cross, of the near perfect conviction rate, to the case. She'd had a case go pear shaped on her, and she was looking to rebuild her reputation off the back of this case, and wouldn't be taking any prisoners in her determination to get a result. In her eyes the case was a slam dunk and a welcome diversion from the Dahl case.

Lisbon puffed her cheeks out as she rang off. "Look, I know you don't think he's ready but the prosecutors are pushing for an arraignment. They'll arrange for an independent opinion if you try and obstruct them. We need to talk to him about what happened."

"They can't do that we're not ready." Miller insisted.

"They can and they will, the arraignment can take place by video if necessary, but if you want this to happen in a controlled way, you need to start talking to him." Lisbon wasn't particularly happy either, but at least this might prove the catalyst to get things moving.

They both turned in time to see Jane taking another file from Lisbon's folder, he had Angela and Charlotte's photographs in front of him and a frown appeared on his face. He looked up at the observation room suspiciously.

"I'll send Sam in to retrieve your files. It's better if you don't see him until after I've spoken to him." Miller guessed Lisbon was the lesser of two evils at this juncture; Karen Cross's reputation preceded her, regularly being hailed by the media for her uncompromising stance.

Jane thumbed his temples, feeling the sudden onset of a headache. Sam approached him tentatively; the warning signs were there to see. "Patrick, Agent Lisbon sends her excuses. I've been told to take you back to your room. Come with me now." Sam reached out to help him up, but Jane swatted his hand away angrily.

"I know you're there. Will someone tell me what's going on?" Jane glared at the observation panel.

"Dr Miller says she'll be with you shortly." Sam tried to mollify him.

Jane still refused to move, knowing better than to force the issue, Sam retrieved the files and made a tactical retreat.

"Do you really think he can switch from one personality to another?" Lisbon still wasn't convinced.

"Didn't you read that paper I sent you?" Miller's patience was running thin. "Even his so called psychic abilities could be explained by the auditory and visual hallucinations associated with the condition."

"But I thought he was a fake?" Lisbon grimaced at the thought that Jane actually may have some powers.

"He probably is most of the time, but he feels things in a way that other people don't. Just watch some of the recordings of him at work, it's quite remarkable the way he throws himself into a trance, as if it really is an out of body experience. Perhaps he's falling back on some experience that he doesn't understand himself." It was hard to rationalise, but this formed the premise of Miller's treatise.

"Nah. It's just a trick, NLP, mentalism whatever you want to call it." Lisbon found the idea hard to entertain.

"Possibly, but have you ever seen anyone pull it off as well as Patrick?" Sophie had no doubt that his sub-conscious fell back on some inner resource that he had no control of.

"So this alter ego, what's he like?" Lisbon's eyes narrowed sceptically.

"Superficially much the same as the man you see here. Most times you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I've only caught glimpses of him, but he has a cruel and viscous streak beneath his urbane veneer."

Lisbon looked suspiciously at Jane through the observation pane. "So what he said to me, would that have been Patrick or John?"

Miller sighed. "Well that's the eternal conundrum. People naïvely assume there's a battle of good against evil, warring for control of a person. In fact neither personality is perfect. One is just as capable as behaving badly as the other, but the differences are in the boundaries of their behaviour." Miller frowned at the glowering look on Jane's face.

"So is that Patrick or John?" Lisbon jerked her head in Jane's direction.

Miller just shook her head at the oversimplification. "It's not like the movies Agent Lisbon, where people can change from one persona to another, as easily as tossing a double headed coin.

"In possession-form cases of dissociative identity disorder the alternate identities are obvious to people, but in non-possession forms the individual may not overtly display their change in identity for long periods of time.

"The transitions may be triggered by psychological stress, but the alternate identity, sometimes known as the EP or the emotional part of the personality, can happily masquerade as the ANP or the apparently normal part of the personality. Although the situation cannot be reversed, the ANP can never pretend to be the EP and may not even be aware of the EP's existence."

"So this EP may take over without anyone noticing, to the outside world he's just the same person he ever was?" Lisbon looked hard at Jane, his attitude had been noticeably different today, but he seemed genuinely shocked when he had overstepped the mark. It all reinforced her suspicions about the gray area Jane inhabited. She didn't envy Miller her task in making Jane aware of the realities, but it had to be done and the sooner the better.

The stakes were going to be much higher next time she visited, and she'd need to keep her wits about her.


	3. Chapter 3 : Revelations

**Chapter 3 : Revelations**

"Sophie, I know you're there." The slightly sing song voice was soft but strangely compelling.

Against her will, Miller's eyes were drawn to meet his, even though the observation panel shielded her from his direct gaze. She grimly pressed her lips together as she marshalled her thoughts, in anticipation of how Jane might react to the revelations. Sam had been instructed to keep reinforcements on hand and to be ready to move at the first sign of trouble. Although she'd only seen flashes of the other side of Jane, it was enough to flag a potential danger.

"I'm waiting." There was more edge to the voice this time, although the slightly jokey sing song voice persisted.

Summoning her resolve, Miller consciously put any sign of trepidation to one side, knowing full well that any weakness would be exploited.

"Finally." Jane rolled his eyes with impatience as she took the seat opposite him. "Sophie, much as I've enjoyed this brief sojourn in your humble establishment, it really is time I went home. Of course, I appreciate everything you've done for me, but we've reached the end of the road now. Besides I've had my fill of this establishment; the beds are lumpy, the tea is lousy and the eggs are indescribable - seriously you need to sack the chef. I've got my eye on a room with a view overlooking the ocean, somewhere I can call my own."

"So where exactly is home Patrick?" Miller watched him intently to see what he remembered; apparently that simple question floored him.

His face took on a worried frown, deflated he stared at her. "Why are you keeping me here?"

"I'm keeping you safe. Looking after you." Miller opted for a conciliatory tone to keep the discussion on an even keel.

Jane laughed derisively. "You can't keep me here for your amusement Sophie. I'm not some pet, to be kept in a gilded cage."

"Well a gilded cage is better than the alternative." Miller's cryptic reply piqued Jane's interest.

"Go on..."

"You've been through a trauma." There was no reaction, so she carried on. "And the police suspect you may be implicated in a crime."

"Ah! So that's why the delightful Agent Lisbon has been visiting me, and I thought it was just my wit and winning personality." The off the cuff remark disguised the rapid computations taking place in the background, as the pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall in place.

Seeing no adverse reaction so far, Miller pressed on."You seemed to recognise the people in the photograph that you took from her file."

"Well the one I did, it looked like Angie Ruskin. We grew up together, only she was older, more filled out than I remember." Jane's eyes narrowed suspiciously - sure he'd been soft on Angie at one stage, but he hadn't seen her for years.

"It was Angela Ruskin, or more accurately Angela Jane." Miller let the significance of the statement slowly sink in.

Jane's confusion turned to cold anger, his knuckles whitened as his hands gripped the sides of the table. "Why are you playing mind games with me?"

"There are no mind games Patrick. Angela was your wife." Miller's monotone voice delivered the news, her eyes scanned his face for reaction.

"I have no wife." He stopped suddenly. "You said _was_?"

"She was killed." Miller paused. "The police think you did it."

Forgetting the restraints on his ankles, Jane tried in vain to get up, and he had to content himself with angrily pushing his chair away from the table. "This is ridiculous, I want to go. I'm discharging myself now."

"I'm afraid you can't do that Patrick. If you do, the police will just arrest you. They want to charge you with murder." Miller kept her voice as calm as possible, not wishing to inflame the situation.

"Murder?" Jane was incredulous. At worst he'd assumed there'd been an accident - DUI or reckless driving. At least that would account for his trauma and subsequent memory loss.

"You were found at the scene of the murder with your wife ...and child." By now any trepidation had transformed into professional interest, as Miller gauged his every response. Stripped of the usual artifice, he was on the back foot and his reactions were more instinctive than calculated.

"For the last time, I have no wife and I'm damned sure I would know if I had a child." Jane was vehement in his denial.

A copy of his wedding photograph, taken from his house, was slid across the table. It stopped him in his tracks briefly."It means nothing. It could have been photo-shopped." It was followed by a family shot of Jane with Angela and Charlotte.

"Do you honestly think I could forget something like that?" There was a hint of uncertainty is his voice, perhaps some residual memory was leaking through, or he was starting to accept the evidence before him. It was impossible to deny the family resemblance to the child; with her wayward blonde curls she was a younger version of Jane.

"I'm afraid that's exactly what has happened Patrick. The trauma of the event has completely erased them from your memory." Miller's tone was softer and calming.

Jane stared at the photograph with a perplexed look on his face. "How did they die?" He hardly wanted to hear the answer.

"They bled to death as a result of cuts inflicted. You were found with them, covered in their blood." Miller stared at him unflinchingly, committing his every reaction to memory.

Jane closed his eyes and shook his head violently. "I don't believe you. This is some sick joke. I don't want to hear any more. Just leave me alone."

Miller quietly. "I wish I could Patrick, but if I don't do this someone else will."

With his elbows firmly pressed on the table, Jane clasped his hands around his head and slowly started to rock, his eyes screwed up tightly blocking out the outside world. The muscles in his neck slowly tightened and his head felt fit to explode as the tendrils of pain spread round his temples to his eyes. There was a raging thunderstorm in his head, starting with a low rumble then building up to a crescendo as the storm clouds circled. There was to be no sudden epiphany released by a flash of light, the storm continued to rage bringing no relief from the tension.

Miller motioned towards the observation panel sensing a crisis approaching, calling Sam in as a precautionary measure. She understood the unpredictability of a troubled mind, it could conjure up visions out of nothing causing an extreme reaction, alternatively it might just shut down if it all became too painful to bear.

The chair started to creak as the rhythmic rocking got faster and faster, his elbows started to slip backwards and forwards on the table with the motion. "No, no, no...I don't believe it." The tortured voice kept repeating like some mantra to ward off the encroaching memories, his voice getting more forceful with each laboured breath.

Miller guessed intervention would do more harm than good; it was like letting a recalcitrant child throw a tantrum, it was best left to work itself out. She watched, waited and made mental notes. Eventually the rocking diminished and the eyes started to flicker open. If Miller didn't know better, she might have detected what looked like the briefest flicker of a smile. She swiftly dismissed that thought, at the sight of the broken and defeated man slowly raising his tear stained eyes to meet hers.

"I'm tired now. I want to go to my room." Miller nodded. Sam came over to help Jane up, another attendant was waiting outside, they couldn't afford to take chances with Jane like this.

Like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, Jane trudged out of the room with his head hanging. Sam gently placed his hand in the small of his back to help him along. Sam's gentle ministration seemed to calm him down, and the backup Jerry was deemed superfluous to requirements. Jane submissively let Sam undress him like a child. Much as Sam tried to avert his eyes, they were irresistibly drawn back to his charge. Sam let his eyes wander over the once sun kissed skin, now paler from a period of incarceration. Jane looked like a fallen angel with his tousled curls and uplifted eyes. It killed Sam every time he saw Jane like this, his pulse quickened and the longing spread to his loins, for all his training he couldn't help it, although he was far too professional to ever give in to temptation. If only Jane hadn't have been wearing that damned suit, Sam could have just left him as he was.

When Sam stood Jane up briefly, Jane clung to him for reassurance. Sam tried to keep Jane at a safe distance, embarrassed by his predicament, but when Jane dropped his face into Sam's neck there was a sharp intake of breath. "That's enough now Patrick. Come on it's time for bed."

Jane lifted his head and slowly smiled at Sam. "Patrick behave! You know what I meant. If you start messing with me Dr Miller will take me off your case, and you'll have to deal with Jerry.

Jane had no worries on that score. Jerry was a dour but straightforward man, with little empathy for his charges, but Jane had discovered he had a surprising low threshold to hypnotism, and he was particularly malleable to Jane's will.

Emotionally exhausted Jane's eyes started to droop with sleep, Sam watched him wearily swing his legs round onto his bed and lay his head down on his pillow.

To all intents and purposes he seemed asleep. As soon as the door closed behind Sam, Jane's eyes suddenly shot open, he smiled momentarily before slipping back into a deep sleep.

For the next few days Jane was uncommunicative and mulish, as he appeared to be struggling to come to terms with events. Lisbon had been told in no uncertain terms that he wasn't fit to be interviewed, but she was struggling to fend off Cross and Minelli.

* * *

Despite all the outside pressure, before any firm accusations were levied against Jane, Lisbon wanted to chase down some leads that the original police investigation hadn't followed through properly. The evidence was circumstantial at best, no murder weapon had been found, and although Jane's prints were everywhere, that was entirely consistent with him just finding the bodies. There was no categorical proof that Jane had committed the murders, and the delay in finding the bodies had made it difficult to pinpoint an accurate time of death, especially as the air conditioning was on full blast when the police made their gruesome discovery.

"What do you mean he's not competent to waive his Miranda rights?" Cross snapped, having little patience or understanding of mental illness. To her it was just another ruse to evade the needle.

"A good defence would get anything he admitted thrown out because of his condition. We need to build a solid evidentiary based case to secure a conviction, or go for a lesser offence like manslaughter." Lisbon knew it wasn't what Cross wanted to hear, but she stuck to her guns.

"He was found covered in their blood. What more do you want?" Cross screwed her face up incredulously – where the hell did they find these detectives?

"There are just too many holes in the case. We need to identify the mystery visitor and establish exactly what happened in the last 24 hours. The unit are putting the CCTV footage recovered at the time through a new number plate recognition programme that can enhance the poorest of footage, to see if they can find a link to the Janes." Lisbon looked to Minelli for support.

"Why wasn't this done earlier?" Minelli asked a valid question.

"The local PD assumed it was a cut and dried case. To be honest if we had found the murder weapon, it would have been." Lisbon guessed the local PD hadn't asked too many questions once they had found Jane alive at the scene.

Cross wasn't impressed, although Minelli put up a stout defence of his people while she was there, he rounded on Lisbon soon after. "Teresa are you sure you're not being drawn into this case by Jane? I need to know that you are not being unduly influenced by him."

"What do you take me for? Of course the team have been following every lead, we just haven't had a break yet." Lisbon went back to the whiteboard in the bull pen, methodically going back over the details of the case. Finally they had a breakthrough, Van Pelt discovered that one of the number plates belonged to a Daniel Ruskin.

"Ruskin, I take it that's no coincidence?" Lisbon updated the whiteboard as she spoke.

"No he's the brother of the deceased." Van Pelt replied. "He's a petty criminal, who fancies himself as wheeler dealer – sails very close to the wind."

"Do we know where he lives?" Lisbon hoped they'd finally got a break.

Van Pelt shook her head. "No fixed address but the state carnival is in town, maybe they can tell us something."

* * *

Reluctantly Dr Miller agreed to let Lisbon interview Jane again, although she warned Lisbon against pushing him too hard. Lisbon was taken aback at the change in his appearance; the suit had been forsaken in favour of practical institutional garb. The face was covered with stubble, and the dark rings around the eyes conveyed a haunted look. The easy mannered charlatan had been replaced by an altogether more wary individual. Jane's fingers tapped out an irritable rhythm on the table as he watched Agent Lisbon take a seat. As a precautionary measure Sam stood in the background, just in case Lisbon pushed Jane too far.

Inclining his head back in Sam's direction, Jane teased. "Can you smell that Sam?"

"Patrick..." Sam said warningly, not quite knowing what to expect.

"The scent of a woman. Agent Lisbon has got a new boyfriend." Jane raised his nose and sniffed like a feral animal appreciatively taking in something from the air, watching his quarry out of the corner of his eye.

Lisbon blushed furiously. Goddammit how did he know that? It wasn't a new boyfriend as such, she'd just hooked up with an old buddy over the weekend. Instinctively she put her hand to her neck thinking there may be some telltale sign, and then chided herself for confirming Jane's suspicions by her reaction.

"Told you Sam." Jane sank back into his chair with a self satisfied look. "Oh don't worry Teresa, it won't be obvious to most people. It takes a highly evolved mind to interpret the subtle changes that their receptors pick up on." Jane tapped his temple as if to emphasise the point, enjoying getting the ascendancy so early in the encounter and revelling in Lisbon's discomfiture.

"Patrick that's enough." Sam warned softly.

Jane just shrugged and smiled. It had been an inspired guess on his part, based on the slightly heavier makeup and more obvious scent Lisbon was wearing, but seeing Lisbon's reaction he wasn't going to let it go.

Clearly flustered, Lisbon sent some of her papers flying. Jane leant down to help her pick them up, deliberately putting his face right in Lisbon's. He stared unflinchingly as they weighed each other up, before Lisbon managed to tear her eyes away. Jane sank back heavily in his chair, knowing the fun was over for now.

"Mr Jane, Dr Miller has made you aware of the purpose of my visit. This is just an informal interview to try and establish the facts, but if you prefer me to read you your rights, we can do this formally." Lisbon looked serious.

Jane just wafted his hand to tell her to carry on.

"Very well Mr Jane. Nothing that you say can be used against you, but we have the right to follow up on anything that comes out of this interview. Are you sure you understand this?" Lisbon made sure there was no doubt of the situation.

A quick nod confirmed Jane's understanding.

"Very well. We're investigating the circumstances of your wife and daughter's deaths." Lisbon began tentatively.

"I have no wife or daughter." Jane interjected sharply.

"Mr Jane, all the evidence shows that you do... did. You lived with your family at Malibu Bluffs, and had been married ever since you eloped with Angela Ruskin."

"What do I have to do to get someone to believe me? I have no wife. Do you want me to take a polygraph?" His exasperation appeared to be genuine enough.

Although Lisbon knew he was the consummate conman, she was nevertheless surprised at his certitude in being confident enough to offer that. "Ok. I can arrange that. It is our job to prosecute this case and find out who killed Angela and Charlotte Jane. If it wasn't you, we need to find out all the material facts to establish who it was. Do you remember a caller earlier in the afternoon – one Daniel Ruskin?"

Jane frowned. "Danny? I haven't seen Danny since I left the carnival – you need to talk to someone at the carnival."

"We tried. No one would tell us anything, they just closed rank." Lisbon admitted wearily.

Jane emitted a gentle snort and smiled. "That figures. If someone has done something wrong, they'll keep it in house, administer their own justice."

For all Lisbon's best efforts, falling back on the tried and trusted protocols of behavioural science to try and differentiate between truth and deception, Jane was beyond the usual stereotypes. While he was uncharacteristically edgy and fidgety, that applied equally to the trial and real questions. Lisbon just had to rely on her gut instinct, and she was getting a very confused picture at the moment. Of course it could all be part of the act, but despite his bravura, Lisbon got the distinct impression that Patrick Jane was acting like an injured animal lashing out in defence, uncertain of what was coming next.

The polygraph threw a spanner in the works when Jane sailed through it. Lisbon was sceptical about the results, having no doubt he could have manipulated the tests. With no hard evidence to back the case up, Lisbon questioned the wisdom of proceeding, but Cross had the bit between her teeth and needed the win badly.

* * *

Lisbon laughed cynically as she swilled the remnants of her red wine round the bottom of her glass, what a debacle the court case had been. Cross's career was in tatters after the defence team demolished her case based on the lack of substantive evidence, they hadn't even fallen back on the psychological angle. In the end it had been Cross who had brought that up in a last ditch attempt to prove her case.

Lisbon had watched on in dismay; it had been like watching a slow car crash as Jane tripped up Cross, and came across to the jury as the victim of a petit bourgeois system that was trying to pin the blame on an innocent man, to cover their own incompetence. It was undeniable there was no hard evidence, no knife, no witnesses. Even Lisbon was starting to doubt the story by time it went to trial. What if Patrick Jane had suffered a fugue as a result of the trauma of finding his family slain and had just blanked it all out, and the real killer was still out there?

Ruskin seemed like a fairly shady character. He'd admitted to a falling out when Jane refused to bail him out again, and they had all been at each other's throats with Angela trying to mediate, and getting abuse from both sides. Maybe he had come back and had another argument with his sister?

Much to Lisbon's chagrin she was bearing the brunt of the blame, Bosco had suggested she had gotten too close to Jane and was pressing Minelli to hand the case over to him, so he could follow the serial killer angle. Worse still Minelli was seriously considering it. Lisbon had warned them all beforehand, but her warnings had fallen on deaf ears.

She took another swig from her glass, grimacing at the memory of the press conference. The media had been relentless in their condemnation of the bumbling cops and clueless prosecutor...

The enigmatic Patrick Jane was garnering his own share of publicity, and to use Bosco's terminology, he was the object of desire for every whack job in the community, receiving bucket loads of fan mail from would be suitors offering to be his girl/boyfriend. The case attracted an unprecedented degree of notoriety as ex clients came out of the woodwork, selling their stories of his psychic powers to the press.

Meanwhile the man of the moment still languished in Dr Miller's establishment, detained under the premise of containment of danger, branded as a threat to others despite the innocent verdict. Needless to say he wasn't remotely happy with the situation and had every intention of rectifying it, by whatever means necessary...

* * *

A/N Sorry about the delay getting this chapter out, I had writer's block and struggled to see the wood for the trees.


	4. Chapter 4 : Mind Games

**Chapter 4 - Mind Games**

Marty Feinstein had been Patrick Jane's attorney since the early days; he'd seen Jane evolve from a small time grifter to the polished act that could command huge fees. Of course Marty had dug his client out of many a hole, Jane had never known when to stop and left a trail of potentially litigious victims in his wake.

From the mobster, who Jane had inadvertently scammed, to the middle managers, whose gullible wives had been systematically milked by the charlatan, there were a lot of people more than happy to see Patrick Jane in custody, although the former had his own plans for retribution in the eventuality that Patrick Jane was ever released.

It took a lot to knock Marty Feinstein off his stride, although Angela had made it clear that she regarded him as a shyster and bad influence on Jane, he was as shocked as anyone when she had been so cruelly murdered. God knew the bitch could drive a man to distraction, but all the same he'd never seen any sign of friction between the couple, Jane just laughed off her occasional caustic barbs. In fairness she was the only person who seemed to have any influence over his client.

Of course no one knew what went on behind closed doors; it could all have been a front but it seemed genuine enough to Marty, even if it was an arrangement of convenience. Marty often wondered why a good looking man like Jane had gotten married so young, when he could have played the field. It wasn't as if Angela was anything exceptional to look at, but Jane seemed curiously indifferent to his obvious attraction to the opposite sex. Anyhow a wife conferred a degree of respectability to him, allowing him access to some of the best homes. No one likes a good looking man hanging round their wife, especially freakin rich people with egos the size of their houses. A married man, who wore his family like a badge of honour, was perceived to be less of a threat.

Whatever Jane was accused of doing to Angela, Marty could never believe that Jane had harmed his own child. He'd rarely seen a man so besotted as Jane was with his daughter. She was the apple of his eye, it was unthinkable that the Patrick Jane that Marty knew, would do anything to harm his daughter.

Naturally Marty was exploring every option to overturn the committal, but hey-ho every cloud had a silver lining, and in Marty's case the silver lining of having Jane incarcerated was that it gave him time to cover his tracks. While holding power of attorney over the Jane estate, the temptation to deal with a pecuniary hiccup after an ill fated trip to Reno had proven to be irresistible. Marty had appropriated some of the Jane fortune to try and recoup his losses at the tables, only to find himself in an even deeper hole when Lady Luck deserted him yet again.

Jane was as sharp as they came, and Marty knew he couldn't be seen to prevaricate, but still a week or two might be long enough to divert funds from elsewhere. Unknown to Marty, Jane had already picked up on the unmistakable signs of a guilty conscience; the inability to look Jane in the eye and the defensive body language, all alerted Jane that Marty had been dipping his fingers in the cookie jar again.

Money was the least of Jane's problems at the moment, but perhaps he should take steps to limit Marty's access to some working capital. Jane had no allusions about Marty, but so long as the money was returned he wasn't unduly bothered. It could be argued it was analogous to banks gambling with your funds on the money markets overnight, over time it would come right. Of course Marty would have some serious explaining to do if it didn't.

The initial committal had been uncontested, as it was obvious that Jane needed help and was a potential danger to both himself and others. The application for committal had to be backed up by two impartial physicians selected by the Probate court, one of which was a practising psychiatrist. Although doctors frequently disagreed on the specific diagnosis, in this case none had any doubt that Patrick Jane should be committed, even if they weren't entirely convinced by Dr Miller's diagnosis. There were other equally plausible explanations, but for the sake of medical expediency they signed off Miller's application.

The seriousness of his condition meant that the deadline for appeal passed unchallenged, leaving Jane entirely at Miller's mercy. Theoretically the hospital didn't have to apply for recommitment until a year had elapsed, although if the circumstances were adjudged to have changed the hospital could review the case at any time, and discharge the patient at the discretion of the psychiatrist. To most people the situation would have appeared to have radically changed, but Dr Miller persisted in her assertion that he was a danger to himself and the public at large - she had become his de facto jailor for the remainder of the term.

It suited Miller to keep Jane languishing in her institution, far from continuing the gentle approach, at times she seemed to deliberately go out of her way to antagonise him, as if to precipitate an extreme reaction. Flanked by Jerry or Sam as a precautionary measure, she would push Jane to his limits, taking copious notes all the time, as if conducting a scientific experiment.

Jane had been tipped off about Miller's book by Sam, and he was damned if some money grabbing shrink was going to rebuild her career off the back of him. Even when subjected to the most extreme provocation, he maintained a sphinx like demeanour, refusing to give Miller the faintest inkling of the workings of his psyche.

Miller may well be holding all the aces for now, but Jane had a few tricks up his own sleeve, and by time he'd finished Miller's aspirations would be a busted flush. For now all he could do was take limited pleasure in frustrating Miller. He would greet her with acid laced politeness, dripping sarcasm was his weapon of choice as he rebuffed each pathetic attempt to try and trigger some psychotic event, in the hope of proving her crackpot theories. Sigmund Freud she was not. It was fair to say that this particular doctor patient relationship had irrevocably broken down.

The options for appeal seemed limited, but Marty had apprised Jane of his rights as an involuntary patient. Theoretically he couldn't be forcibly medicated unless he was a threat to himself or others, he had the right to send and receive sealed mail from any agency or individual, and had the right to make phone calls, receive visitors, wear his own clothes and keep some personal possessions. However any or all of these rights could be withdrawn if the head of the facility deemed them medically harmful to the patient. In short, if Dr Miller decreed it was a medical necessity she could completely control him; the only thing she couldn't do was deny him access to his attorney.

For all Jane's desire for freedom, he acknowledged that his diagnosis and ensconcement in the facility conferred a degree of protection against further investigation. He'd heard that Karen Cross had jumped ship before she was pushed, but had heard nothing from the CBI since his acquittal. Presumably they'd gone away to lick their wounds and regroup. Although Jane continued to protest his innocence, and knew that double indemnity worked in his favour, he would have been surprised if the CBI had let the matter drop completely.

* * *

It didn't take any great powers of detection to see what was going on, the more misogynistic elements of the press had revelled in Cross's fall from grace and now had Lisbon firmly in their sights. The first time that she or her team put a foot wrong, the press would be all over her like a rash. Lisbon had been aware of Bosco's manoeuvrings behind the scenes, for all her gratitude to her mentor, it was infuriating that Bosco still assumed a position of superiority, even though they were of equal rank these days.

It was with a heavy heart that Minelli finally decided to move the Red John case to Bosco's team, he knew that Lisbon would see it as an act of betrayal, and as much as Minelli respected Bosco there was something about him that just rubbed Minelli up the wrong way. Bosco's habit of challenging Minelli's decisions in public, rather than behind the privacy of closed doors was hardly endearing. Minelli rationalised that it was in Lisbon's best interests, but however he tried to window dress the decision, there was no doubt it would be perceived as a slap on the wrist for Lisbon's team.

It wasn't helped by the ongoing rivalry between the two units. Cho and Rigsby were gunning for Hicks and Martinez - internal tensions at the CBI were running high. Lisbon accepted the decision meekly and tried her best to defuse the matter, but she couldn't help but feel some residual bitterness towards Bosco.

Lisbon looked up to see Cho standing in her doorway. "It's not fair Boss, we had the case snatched away from us before we were ready for trial. It's not our fault the prosecution failed; they should have let us seen this case through."

"Kimball there's no point going over the same old ground again. I'm sure Minelli has his reasons for his decision." Lisbon maintained a diplomatic stance.

"They're not even looking for other suspects, they just trying to pin the crimes on Jane." Cho had no axe to grind either way where Jane was concerned, if he were guilty he deserved what was coming. What irked him was the prospect of Bosco's heavy handed approach bearing fruit, where their more measured approach had failed. Moreover it would reflect badly on the SCU, and Lisbon in particular, if their tactics were deemed to have been ineffectual.

"It's Bosco's prerogative to prosecute the case how he wishes, maybe he has some new evidence we're not aware of." Much as she appreciated Cho's loyalty, Lisbon did her best to nip the conversation in the bud.

"So do you think it was Jane?"Cho's direct question took Lisbon by surprise.

"I honestly don't know Cho - all the circumstantial evidence points in that direction, and Occam's razor suggests the simplest solution is often the best. Anyhow it's not our case anymore, and Sac PD have just called in this new case. If you want to start going through it, I'll join you in the bullpen shortly." She passed the file over and went back to her paperwork.

In truth she often played that question over in her mind, Patrick Jane was a real enigma. Undoubtedly controlling and cruel in his own way, but he had the ability to connect with people in manner that made you doubt yourself. The absolute clarity with which he denied all knowledge of the murders, made one question the overwhelming arguments to the contrary. In true Lisbon style she shook that thought off, it was academic now. The whole sorry affair had been a fiasco, and not one she wanted to dwell on any further.

Nevertheless she would relish being a fly on the wall when Bosco met Patrick Jane. Bosco's bruising approach and natural cynicism would not sit well with Patrick Jane. Not that Bosco would give a damn what Jane thought about him, as far as he was concerned Jane's fingerprints were all over these crimes and he was going to do his damndest to prove it.

* * *

Teresa Lisbon had long been in Patrick Jane's thoughts; he'd found her an amusing diversion, a curious blend of righteous conviction and artless enchantment. So when he was told that the CBI wanted to interview him again, any trepidation was outweighed by the not entirely unpleasant prospect of seeing Agent Lisbon again.

Sam had smiled at the obvious care Jane had taken with his appearance that day, his by now shaggy mane had been partially tamed and tucked behind his ears, and the vest had been brought out of retirement for the occasion. Jane's disappointment was palpable, when the Neanderthal hulk that was introduced as Agent Bosco entered the room. Ignoring the hand that Jane politely proffered, Bosco slumped into the opposite chair and looked round the room weighing it all up. Young Sam almost felt sorry for Jane, he'd been looking forward to this all day and his eyes narrowed menacingly at the prospect of a less than entertaining interlude.

Jane mimicked the agent's body language as he took in the salient details. The man opposite him had serious attitude, married judging by the ring, his wife probably picked his clothes for him, the man had little interest in his appearance. His only sop to vanity was that goatee beard designed to divert attention away from his balding pate.

Bosco pursed his lips before laying his cards on the table. "I'm Agent Bosco and I've taken over the Red John case from Agent Lisbon. From now on you'll be dealing with me, and you'll find me far less amenable to your charms."

"Well I hardly think congratulations are in order." Jane eyed him up drily, knowing the enemy was half the battle. "Such a shame, Agent Lisbon was such diverting company and so much easier on the eye, unless of course the butch machismo turns you on. Come to think of it, the last time I recall a cop sporting a beard like that was in the Village People. Do you save the studs and chains for special occasions?"

There was the faintest wrinkling of Bosco's nose at Jane's taunt, but he exercised admirable restraint. "I get it that you think you can twist everyone round your little finger, the easy manner, the good looks, smooth talking. I'm sure you're used to having people eating out of your hand."

Jane's eyes creased with amusement."Must be like looking in a mirror Agent Bosco, for a man as suave and debonair as you."

A faint flush of annoyance started to spread from the neck upwards at the obvious mockery, and Bosco reverted to a quietly menacing tone. "You'll find I'm different from anything you've encountered in the past. I know a guilty man when I see one, and once I've got my teeth into something I'm like a dog with a bone, I won't let it go for anything."

Jane looked him up and down pointedly. "Now that you mention it, it's kind of obvious you have food issues. The loose tie could be considered slovenly, but I'm guessing that top button won't do up anymore, with that disappearing neck of yours. Don't tell me - ah yes! Your wife has put you on a diet, but if I'm not mistaken there's a sign of fresh ketchup on that shirt - a dead giveaway if I may say so. It's kind of like adultery, indulging in your guilty pleasure."

"You think you're so clever. The smartest man in the room, you always have to have the final word. You're addicted to control and assume everyone can be won round by your childish jokes and charm. I'm sorry to be blunt Patrick, but I've got some news for you, your charm counts for zip with me." Bosco spat the last words out, as he leaned in to impose his physical presence on Jane.

Jane's lips pursed speculatively, Bosco was going to be a hard nut to crack. "I'm really sorry to hear that Agent Bosco, just when I thought we had a connection going." He moved his forefinger backwards and forwards between them to emphasise the connection.

A vessel in Bosco's temple started to pulse, as his face screwed up in anger. He jabbed his finger repeatedly at Jane, as he launched an angry tirade. "You think it's all a joke don't you, but mark my words Patrick Jane I'm coming after you."

Jane's lips twitched in satisfaction at finally getting Bosco to bite. "Don't you think it's a bit juvenile trying to impress me with your macho cop act. Much as I'd love to sit here exchanging banter with such a delightful companion, I'm afraid I have a pressing appointment with my sock drawer. Next time do send Agent Lisbon, she's so much easier to talk to. As it is I have nothing else to say to you. Nada, zilch." To emphasise the point he drew an imaginary zip across his lips and sat back in his chair with a smirk on his face, making it perfectly clear who was in control of this interview, which was terminated forthwith.

Bosco rose to his full height. "I'll grant that you make a very convincing lunatic, but listen here you whack job. I'm going to unearth every last stone until I find something to nail you on, even if it's tax evasion. However clever you might like to think you are, never underestimate the intelligence of your opponent. There is always something you've overlooked, no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time."

Despite his nonchalant front Jane was vaguely unsettled by Bosco, and was glad to see the back of him. He looked up as Sam re-entered the interview room. "You never learn do you Patrick?"

Jane feigned innocence. "Learn?"

"You go out of your way to antagonise people, always have to push their buttons." Sam frowned disapprovingly. Guessing there was more to this Jane raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"Nurse Carter has lodged a formal complaint against you." Sam added by way of explanation.

"Oh Nurse Ratchet, she really needs to get a sense of humour. Don't you know I'm crazy according to the powers that be?" Jane pulled a face and waggled his hands theatrically. " Besides what can they do, they've already got me where they want me." He added bitterly.

"I'm just warning you Patrick, ease off for a while. You'd be surprised what they can do, if they really want to." Sam's concern was genuine, there were things going on in this institution that he wasn't happy about. He'd considered leaving, but if all the good guys left it would be even worse for the patients. Sam pulled some envelops out his pocket and handed them to Jane. "More fan mail, declaring their undying devotion to you no doubt - if only they really knew you."

Jane flashed Sam one of his rare unguarded smiles, and proceeded to filter through the mail, tossing the scented ones to one side unceremoniously. He soon found the one he was looking for, and asked Sam for some writing materials. He dashed out a quick response before placing it in a sealed envelope and asking Sam to have it posted for him. Sam inevitably glanced down at the envelop, which was addressed to a PO Box in Sacramento, much as it piqued Sam's curiosity he asked no questions, it was Jane's fundamental right to correspond with whoever he liked.

* * *

Lisbon was talking to the team when she saw Bosco emerge from the elevator, she knew that look on his face of old; clearly things hadn't gone entirely to plan. He accidentally knocked some papers off Van Pelt's desk as he swept through the bullpen, pausing briefly to mutter some brusque apology before disappearing to his own unit.

"What's up with him?" Rigsby stood with his hands on his hips, he was sick and tired of the way Bosco's unit treated them.

"Just drop it Wayne, he apologised." Grace said in a conciliatory tone.

Cho folded his arms and smirked. "He saw Patrick Jane today didn't he?"

For all her professionalism Lisbon couldn't suppress a smirk and muttered. "Sure looks like it." She gave Bosco a few minutes to regain his composure, before drifting over to his office.

"So Sam, how did it go, have you cracked the case yet?" Lisbon wallowed in a pleasurable sense of Schadenfreude.

Bosco didn't look up as he pulled some files out of his briefcase, trying his best to ignore her.

"Ooh that good?" Lisbon relished Bosco's discomfiture when he looked up irritably at her. "You didn't get too close to him did you, let him wrap you round his little finger?" She taunted him with the charges he was prone to levy against her.

Bosco exhaled heavily though his nose, still declining to answer. His lips starting to whiten slightly, they were pressed so firmly together. Lisbon started laughing "Why Samuel Bosco you lost it didn't you? You let him get under your skin and blew it."

Bosco's face flushed. "That arrogant son of a bitch is going down. I don't care how I do it but I'm nailing him for this."

Lisbon wagged her finger reprovingly as she tutted. "Now really Sam, that's not very professional..."

"No it's not." Minelli's voice piped up from behind her, neither Lisbon or Bosco had realised he was there."We'll have no talk like that on my watch Agent Bosco."

"Figure of speech Virgil, just letting off steam." Bosco muttered apologetically, accepting the rebuke.

"Lisbon, I'm sure you have things to do while I talk to Bosco." She smiled at the dismissal, knowing Minelli was simply defusing the situation. They exchanged an amused look, Minelli wasn't entirely disappointed that Bosco had stumbled at the first hurdle. Minelli always had a soft spot for Lisbon, as much as he tried to be even handed. There was no denying Bosco was an excellent agent, but his assumption of precedence over his erstwhile protégé irritated Minelli. Lisbon was a fine agent in her own right, and was there entirely on merit.

* * *

Jane routinely entertained the other patients with his tricks, partly for his own gratification, but he also devoted time to some of the more challenging cases, drawing them out of their shells. On the face of it, his efforts could be perceived as an act of kindness, although a more cynical person might suggest it was just Jane keeping his hand in at exercising his power over a vulnerable subject.

Nevertheless it was impressive to see the power he could exert over people, if he had chosen to use that ability to a more altruistic purpose, he could have been an excellent therapist. It was impossible not be impressed by his ability to draw a smile of wonderment out of the most introverted of patients, as he weaved that coin of his between his fingers and softly cast his spell.

But that morning Sam had sensed there was method in Jane's madness, in the way he systematically worked the patients. Sam could tell that Patrick Jane was up to no good. Jane had been particularly attentive to a small group of them, before settling down to read his book with the vestige of a self satisfied smile on his face. Sam noticed the involuntary quirked eyebrow and the studied turn of the page, at the sound of a door opening announcing the arrival of the dour Nurse Carter.

Was it Sam's imagination or did he really hear what sounded like the clicking of fingers? Sam was left in no doubt, when the orchestrated banging down of enamelled mugs on the table tops produced a discordant cacophony of sound, accompanied by the mocking chant . " Nurse Ratchet, Nurse Ratchet..." The assembled group proceeded to stand to attention and salute as the decidedly flustered Nurse Carter hurried to her station.

Jane's face was still obscured by his book, and he made a show of affected disinterest by slowly turning another page, before looking up innocently to see Sam staring at him accusingly. Sam shook his head despairingly, before leaving the room to assess what damage Jane had wreaked this time – he'd try and smooth things over, but this was getting beyond a joke.

Jane smirked as he returned back to his book. Let the mind games begin...


	5. Chapter 5 : The Ice Queen

****A/N Warning some scenes of violence and non consensual sex, nothing graphic, but it may offend some.****

* * *

 **Chapter 5 : The Ice Queen.**

If the dark rimmed eyes and slightly irritable air were anything to go by, there had been little comfort found in the arms of Morpheus overnight. Such dreams as Jane had were dark and troubling, with the images he'd been shown prior trial preying on his mind. Although that night was still a closed book to him, in his darkest moments he was forced to consider the unpalatable possibilities. He'd kept a copy of a family photograph, which he'd study endlessly, searching the deepest recesses of his mind for a mere hint of recollection. How could it be that someone who could recall the most useless facts at will, had somehow locked away such precious memories?

"You really should take something to help you sleep Patrick." There was a practical consideration to Sam's concern; he knew from experience that a fractious Jane would overreact to the faintest whiff of officiousness or pedantry, punishing the perpetrator unmercifully.

Jane harrumphed sceptically. "You honestly think I'm going to trust anything they give me?"

Much as he wished he could say otherwise, Sam knew that once Jane accepted any medication, it was highly likely that they'd tinker with the prescription, to facilitate the smooth running of the establishment. Anyhow it was academic, as Jane steadfastly refused to take even an aspirin from the facility, despite the recurring headaches.

Much as it grieved Sam to admit it, there were a few bad apples in the facility, who'd have been more at home in a corrections institution than a medical facility. Mental health wasn't the most popular branch of medicine, and it was sometimes hard to recruit. It had more than its fair share of battle hardened employees, who would resort to chemical handcuffs as the first option rather than as a last resort.

The trend was to treat more people in the community, to mitigate the risk of institutionalisation. Only the most serious cases, or those whose families could afford to pay for care, were treated as inpatients. The patients were a motley mix of refugees from the fast lane, not harmful to anyone but themselves, but unable to cope with the pressures of the outside world. There were also some sexually violent predators that'd been committed to the institution after serving their prison terms, as they were adjudged to pose a risk of re-offending.

Jane instinctively took a couple of seriously messed up young adults under his wing, in particular he befriended a young hacker Karl, whose only crime was being cleverer than everyone else. Everything was a puzzle to be solved for Karl; there was no personal gain, but try explaining that to the security services, who threatened to throw him in jail unless he sought therapy.

Genuine as their friendship appeared, Jane had no scruples about it exploiting it. Before long they had a well established routine of causing a diversion to lure staff away, allowing Karl access to the computer network at the nurse's station, while others kept lookout for them. With blatant disregard for the intelligence of the patients, the security protocols were pathetically easy to crack for someone of Karl's ability. They started quite innocently, changing the requisitions to order softer toilet paper, branded breakfast cereals, and adding a weekly order of blueberry muffins. Everything appeared to be authorised by Dr Miller, who argued vehemently with the accounts department that she had done no such thing. Karl was a resource to be used sparingly so as not to draw attention to his potential, but they all enjoyed the benefits of his skills. Naturally Jane didn't waste the opportunity to research his fellow patients and the staff members, after all information was currency and you never knew when it would come in useful.

Dr Miller had a predilection for group therapy, and try as she might to convene sessions without Jane's knowledge, he would invariably impose his presence on the sessions at some stage. That particular day the piped music, which supposedly provided a calming environment, had inspired the patient affectionately known as Fred [after the great Astaire], to trip the light fantastic around the common room. Fred had fallen into a trough of despair after tragically losing his wife, and the only thing that kept him going were his memories. He would while away the long days, imagining he was dancing with his wife. Most of the time he danced alone, the staff having neither time nor more likely the inclination to humour him. A natural showman by disposition, Jane was a more than willing partner, and would dip and spin Fred for the amusement of the other patients, who clapped and whooped appreciatively as Fred and 'Ginge' weaved their way around the room.

On spotting Dr Miller making her entrance, Jane whispered something in Fred's ear before guiding him across the good doctor's path, whereupon they parted company. Jane immediately accosted Dr Miller, giving her no chance to refuse, and he waltzed her across the length of the room. Knowing fighting him off would just make her look stupid, she went along with it sporting a forced smile, contenting herself with hissing into his ear. "Patrick Jane put me down this minute."

"Oh come on Sophie, you know you love it." He dipped her dramatically, winking at a horrified Sam, who watched on despairingly. "You know Nietzsche says that those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music. Tell me you can hear the music and we're not insane?"

As they got closer to the opposite side of the room Miller placed a well aimed kick, causing Jane to let go with a yelp. "Hey, no need for that." He rubbed his leg gingerly.

"Oops, sorry two left feet." She smiled through gritted teeth, refusing to let the others see she was rattled.

Miller might have thought that was the end of things, but with a nihilistic disregard for his own safety, Jane gate crashed the group session taking the last remaining seat next to Gregory, the disbarred attorney. Inhaling deeply, Miller blinked slowly as she drew herself up to appear as composed as possible, all the time wondering what Jane had planned next.

"As you know these sessions are designed to encourage a greater level of self awareness by interacting with each other. By sharing your problems and understanding the impact of your actions on those around you, we can work towards your recovery." Miller quickly glanced at her notes, ignoring Jane, who nodded his head with exaggerated seriousness in agreement, avoiding Sam's glare of opprobrium.

Miller forced a smile as she addressed the angular young man seated next to her. "Max would you like to start by telling us what you hope to achieve by being here."

Max glanced around furtively, wondering what everyone knew of his background before beginning hesitantly. "I ... I..."

"Come on Max, you can talk here no one will judge you." Miller's voice was soft and persuasive.

"I...I'm here to try and learn to control my emotions, to learn how to adjust to society's expectations of me." He perked up as he got his speech out.

"Baloney.." came the response from the other side of the room.

Ignoring the interruption, Miller offered her encouragement. "Well done Max, understanding is the first step to recovery."

"Oh, he understands alright." Jane said sarcastically. "He understands that while he's in here, his parents can buy off the family of the young girl he attacked. He avoids prosecution, lives his life untainted, while she has to live with the trauma of his actions." Jane fixed Max with his stare."How old was she sixteen? ...oh younger fourteen?" Max turned to Dr Miller in panic, not knowing how to respond. It was all supposed to be confidential, how had the others found out?

Jane turned his attentions to Miller. "No doubt it will be written up as something that doesn't affect his future prospects. Perhaps you'd be better off counselling the real victim, though I don't suppose she can afford your fees."

Trying to divert attention away from Max, Miller turned to the investment banker "Peter. Perhaps..."

Jane didn't let her finish. "Has anyone noticed that the good doctor never asks me anything?" There were some nods and grunts in acknowledgement of the point. "Maybe you'd like to tell everyone why you persist in keeping me here, when anyone can see there is no need."

Miller's eyes narrowed as she responded coldly."That's not strictly true Patrick, you went through a severe trauma, and still haven't got your memories back. Something is stopping you from remembering. Who knows how you'll react when you finally remember?"

"You could treat me as an outpatient, but I'm just a guinea pig held captive at your whim, while you attempt to prove some pet theory. Gregory, do you know she's writing a book about us? If not illegal, surely it must be unethical?"

As was his way, Gregory solemnly considered the question with his hangdog expression. "It all depends whether you signed an informed consent form, allowing your case to be used for research. Of course seeing as we have mental health issues, some may question whether we are legally competent to even agree to such consent. If I correctly recall the case of Lombard versus..."

"Thanks Gregory, I think that's cleared that up." Jane stopped him in his tracks before he went into the minutiae of the pros and cons, as was his wont. "Hands up, who's signed a consent form?"

"Of course.." Gregory tried to come back with some point of law.

Jane cut him off again."So Dr Miller, not only are you keeping me here under false pretences, you're violating my rights as a patient."

A flash of anger passed Miller's face, her clipped tones belied her inner rage. "Patrick this is neither the time nor the place to have this discussion, I'll see you privately."

In contrast Jane's voice grew louder as he delivered each point."Really, I'm finding it quite cathartic. It's just as well everyone knows what you're really like. Self serving , willing to put aside your patient's interests aside for personal gain. You're nothing but a publicity seeking charlatan, playing games with our lives. How do you sleep at night?"

With her face by now white with anger, Miller rose imperiously from her seat. "We'll reconvene again next week, when everyone has calmed down." Miller swept out like an ice queen, dispensing a chilling look in Jane's direction that would have frozen a lesser man to the very core.

* * *

Overwrought from his exertions, Jane slept fitfully than night, imagining noises and voices, and feeling a distinct sense of unease. They came for him in the early hours, before the morning shift arrived. Jane was dragged out of his bed and gagged, until he was secured in the confines of a secluded bathroom. Resisting the attempts to forcibly strip him, Jane lost his footing catching his head against the side of the bath. Taking advantage of his dazed state, he was completely stripped and unceremoniously dumped into the bath of cold water.

Guessing he was in trouble, with Jerry and a couple of the bruisers from the night shift in attendance, Jane swallowed hard when Dr Miller made her entrance. A private man at the best of times and not given to displays of nudity, he felt horribly exposed. He was unable to protect his modesty, with his arms held firm by his minders. To add insult to injury, he felt a trickle of blood run down his cheek.

Miller paid scant regard to his state of undress, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his face. Miller shook her head. "Patrick, Patrick what are we going to do with you?"

Refusing to play her game, Jane just glared belligerently at her. As if doing it with great regret, Miller gave a quiet nod, and without further warning they pushed Jane under water briefly, as a precursor for what was to follow. Caught by surprise, he'd breathed in some water and emerged coughing and gasping when he was pulled up. Using his diaphragm to take deep breaths, he tried to school his breathing in advance of the next onslaught, although it was difficult to think clearly with his heart pounding.

Miller raised an eyebrow. "It's time for you to learn who's really in charge."

Although better prepared than the first time, he was pushed under for what felt like an eternity, as the pressure seemed to be building up behind his eyes and his lungs felt fit to burst. His legs started to thrash in the water as he fought the urge to try and draw breath underwater. Just when it seemed he couldn't fight it any more he was pulled up again.

"Are you sorry now Patrick?"

No response was expected; this was clearly a punishment being exacted. Each time they held him down until the thrashing in the water started to subside, indicating he was close to the edge. He would re-emerge gasping for breath, recovering from the acute burn in his straining lungs, to see Dr Miller calmly standing at the foot of the bath, with her arms folded, watching proceedings, her lips pursed in quiet satisfaction.

"Do you finally understand who's in charge now Patrick?"

After the panicked response to the first few cycles, Jane rationalised they weren't going to go all the way, and disciplined himself to overcome the adrenaline rush that had caused his heart to race, wasting much needed oxygen.

Knowing the best thing was to play along with them, he slowed his metabolism right down and forced his epiglottis to stay closed, apart from exhaling controlled amounts of waste carbon dioxide. The build up of carbon dioxide in his blood would eventually trigger an involuntary breath under water, so it was important to control this.

Jane managed to keep a semblance of control by putting on a show of resistance, before letting his body go limp after the prerequisite struggle, to satisfy the needs of his tormentors. As they showed no sign of stopping, Jane put up less resistance each time hoping they would lose interest, and in the process he conserved vital oxygen. All his responses were slowed down to the point of appearing to be unresponsive when he was finally dragged up for air. Forcing himself into a trance like state to overcome the impulse to gasp for air, Jane was barely aware of the worried voices in the background. In his semi conscious state Jane mused that far from images of his life flashing before him all he had was a blank page.

"He's not breathing - what if he's dead?" Jerry's panicked voice pierced Jane's consciousness.

The chill of the water combined with his biofeedback mechanism had all served to lower his heart rate, making his pulse barely perceptible. His brain just about registered the sound of the door being forced open and the sound of Sam shouting out."What the hell's going on?"

"He slipped in the bath." Miller said offhandedly before making her exit, being more astute than the others, she guessed he was just semi-conscious.

Sam dragged the limp body out of the water, laying it out in the recovery position to clear the airways. Jane slowly took the faintest controlled breath, holding his body rigid to avoid giving anything away. Before Jane knew what was happening, Sam had rolled him back to administer mouth to mouth resuscitation to force some oxygen in Jane's lungs before starting CPR.

All this took place against the backdrop of homophobic taunts from Sam's watching colleagues. "Just look at the faggot. He's finally got his hands on the man of his dreams. That's right, give lover boy a kiss." They puckered their lips and bayed.

Sam blocked out the mindless abuse, concentrating on the job in hand, puzzled by the sensation of warmth against his cheek, when Jane's body seemed inert. A wet bathroom was hardly the place to use a defibrillator, so Sam delivered a precordial thump as a last attempt to get Jane's heart going.

Jane's eyes shot open wide in pain as he stared accusingly at Sam. In his relief at Jane's Lazarus act, Sam didn't stop to think too deeply in the moment. Still enduring the gamut of innuendo and insinuations from the onlookers, Sam organised towels and blankets to try and bring Jane's body temperature back up, before taking him back to his room. Jane meanwhile made a mental note of the culprits Jerry, Luis and Eric, who now had a special place reserved for them in his memory palace.

Tucked up in his bed and aching all over with his bruised ribs, Jane whined. "Jeez did you have to hit my chest that hard Sam? I nearly cried out when you did that."

Sam raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation, by this time guessing all was not as it seemed. Jane's split eye was a garish shade of purple, and although every breath drawn was painful, Jane still refused all pain killers from the facility. Sam disappeared briefly, soon returning with an unopened pack of Advil hidden in his pocket. Jane viewed the glass of water he was handed distastefully, feeling understandably hydrophobic at that juncture.

"If you tell anyone about this I'll deny all knowledge." Sam handed over the packet for Jane to examine, he smiled gratefully before popping some tablets out of their foil packaging. "Have you got somewhere to keep them?"

Jane painfully reached over to the copy of the bible in the drawer and worked the spine open enough to push a few tablets down there as a backup. He lay back into his cushions with a wry smile on his face. "Hey Sam has anyone told you you're a greater kisser?"

Sam failed to see the funny side of it and flushed angrily "Go screw yourself Patrick."

"I think you'll find that's anatomically impossible." Jane had to have the last word, Sam's anger quickly evaporated and despite his concerns he started chuckling as he walked down the corridor, not that this was a laughing matter

Sam sometimes wondered whether he would be better in one of the larger institutions that offered more opportunity for advancement and training, but he knew that his strengths lay with his people skills. What he was lacking in academic ability, was compensated for by his natural empathy with the patients. A smaller establishment allowed him to form one on one relationships with the patients, some may say that wasn't strictly professional, but he didn't want to work on an assembly line that just processed and threw people back out in to the community until the next crisis.

The atmosphere was getting toxic as Dr Miller surrounded herself by her henchmen, who growing in confidence that they wouldn't face censure, were becoming overbearing not only with the patients but also with the other staff members. Given his sexual orientation Sam was inured to the insults of his less enlightened colleagues, it was them that had a problem not him, but those same colleagues also targeted some of the younger female staff. A bully wasn't discriminate who they targeted, any sign of weakness would be exploited. Only last week he'd found one of the young interns in tears after being harassed by one of the bullies, too embarrassed to admit what had been said, she refused to make a complaint.

Sam couldn't prove what happened to Jane was anything but an accident, it was his word against theirs, but eventually he knew that someone would overstep the mark. Sam himself became the target of attacks, coming out of work to flat tyres. Other staff were targeted in petty ways, fake phone calls from their kid's schools calling them out to fictitious emergencies, and minor incidents in the rest room. It was a febrile atmosphere just waiting for something to happen.

* * *

For some time after the attack Jane would only sleep fitfully at night, the off the shelf painkillers giving only temporary respite from the pain. The systematic campaign of nightly disturbances and whispered threats were fairly pointless as Jane barely slept anyhow, moreover he'd rationalised that it was just for effect, and nothing untoward would happen without Miller's permission.

The cumulative effect of sleep deprivation and festering resentment had started to infiltrate the rational part of Jane's psyche, precipitating the onset of troubling flashbacks. Unsure whether they were actual memories or merely the product of suggestion, Jane was tormented by the dark thoughts that started to surface. The vaguest of memories hinted at an existence that he barely dared to contemplate; he was tortured by a nagging dread that he may indeed be the monster they'd accused him of being after all. The uncertainty was tearing him apart, but at least not knowing allowed the possibility of hope. Once the genie was out of the bottle, it would be impossible to put back.

It all made him increasingly embittered and at war with the world, finally the campaign of nightly taunts drove him to the edge of reason and he abandoned all hope, letting go of all his pent up frustrations with a chilling howl, that echoed round the facility.

When he rallied there was a cold resolve to his demeanour. If they'd consigned him to this living hell, he'd rule this little corner of hell by his rules, dispensing his justice - they had it coming.

Even Sam, who sought to see the best in him, was troubled by the changes in Jane's demeanour and in the company Jane had started to keep. Jane struck up an uneasy relationship with some of the most notorious sex offenders, who were generally ostracised. They tended to keep in a tight knit group, where they could indulge their taste for depravity without being judged. It was out of character for Jane to court their company, but he could be found deep in conversation with them at times. Like Jane they were given a particularly hard time by some of the staff, who barely hid their disdain for them.

One night after lights out, there was a sound of shuffling in the corridor as the offenders trooped like zombies to a distant meeting place. No one knew how they'd acquired the security pass, but Jerry soon became aware it was missing and was retracing his steps trying to find it. On seeing a light on in a rarely used room, Jerry went in to investigate. His surprise at being confronted with three of the most notorious offenders, was matched by a feeling of dread when he realised he was surrounded and couldn't activate the panic button. Uneasy at the crazed look in their eyes, Jerry tried to talk his way out of the situation, but as one of the worst perpetrators of abuse, his weasel words counted for nothing. A blow to the head dazed him and sent him flying, but that was the least of his worries. Long deprived of an outlet for their cravings, they sated their pent up frustration at Jerry's expense in a debauched frenzy, taking a perverse pleasure from the sound of Jerry's screams. He could scream as loud as he wanted, the other night staff were high as kites, having been slipped some illicit drugs beforehand.

Whatever sins Jerry had committed were more than repaid that night. Jane was stretched out on his bed, with his eyes closed and an enigmatic smile on his face, contemplating sweet dreams. It was unlikely Jerry would call anyone a faggot again for a while.

Revenge was indeed a dish best served cold.


	6. Chapter 6 : Fractious Times

**Chapter 6: Fractious Times**

Oh what Minelli would give for a day away from the petty politics of the bureau. Just him, a few beers and a fishing rod - the cool ocean breeze blowing away all his cares.

The internecine warfare waging between Lisbon and Bosco's units was bad for morale, both sides were as bad as each other, but Bosco's men were better at covering their tracks. As if to prove the point, Minelli rounded the corner just in time to catch the tail end of Rigsby directing a stream of invective at Hicks and Martinez, and Cho was no better straining like a pit bull on the leash, just waiting for an excuse to get involved.

One glance at Hicks feigning innocence, was enough to confirm who had started the latest contretemps. Hicks was a wily old fox and knew exactly which buttons to press, if not actively encouraged by his boss, Bosco had certainly done nothing to dampen down hostilities. It was disappointing that Lisbon and Bosco couldn't put their differences to one side; they were just as bad as their subordinates at times.

The buck stopped with Minelli, and it was obvious he was going to have to do something. Hopefully the call he'd just taken from Captain Rupert offered him a way forward. Nevertheless in Lisbon's absence, he still needed to deal with the situation in hand.

"You can't be left for a minute without rising to the bait. Show some decorum Agent Rigsby." Minelli cast his eye around the bullpen."So where is Agent Lisbon?" His gruff manner made it perfectly clear this wasn't the end of the matter.

"She's just popped to see Shettrick; she'll be back any minute." Rigsby exchanged a worried glance with Cho, regretting that their indiscipline would add to Lisbon's problems.

All heads turned at the ping of the elevator; Lisbon walked out jauntily, stopping dead in her tracks on seeing everyone staring in her direction. Crap what had they done this time? She glared accusing at Cho and Rigsby.

"Problem Sir?"

"Well that depends whether you think it's acceptable for your agents to be hurling abuse across the bullpen. This has been going on for too long. You've had every chance to sort this out. I'm afraid it's out of your hands now. My office in five, Agent Lisbon." Minelli set off purposefully in the direction of Bosco's unit.

"What the hell have you done this time?" Lisbon snapped at Cho and Rigsby.

"They started it..." Rigsby ignored Cho's hand signals to zip it, but he was cut short by an exasperated Lisbon before he could dig himself into a deeper hole.

"What is this, a freaking kindergarten?" She brushed off Cho's muttered apology, as she made her way to Minelli's office. Oh crap! Bosco was there, just what she needed.

Tapping on Minelli's door before entering, she nodded curtly at Bosco before taking the seat next to him. Bosco was already bristling with indignation, ready to defend the honour of his unit, before Minelli even said a word.

Minelli leant back in his chair and fixed them with an eagle eyed stare. "Agents as you seem to be incapable of sorting out your units; it's my responsibility to make sure that things get back on track."

Bosco immediately went on the offensive. "There's nothing wrong with my unit. Lisbon just needs to accept that we've got the Red John case, and let it go."

Before Minelli could say a word, Lisbon was straight back at Bosco. "And how's that going Sam? I hear that you're so fixated on one suspect that you're not even following up the new leads. Have you even spoken to Danny Ruskin?"

"How do you know about that?" Bosco snarled.

"I'm a detective." She leant in towards him, mouthing the words right in his face.

"No kidding." Bosco spat back.

Minelli banged the desk. "Enough! How can you control your teams, if you can't even control yourselves? That's it. I've decided you're working the case together from now on."

"You can't do that..." Bosco drew himself up angrily.

Minelli narrowed his eyes, irritated by Bosco's habitual undermining of his authority."I think you'll find I just have Agent. Problem?"

Lisbon's lips twitched slightly in satisfaction. "No Boss."

Bosco managed a grunt in response.

Minelli passed a file to each of them. "Captain Rupert passed this over to me, there's been another incident at the mental facility where Patrick Jane is being held, and the Captain thought that seeing as we have an ongoing investigation, we might want to pick this up..."

* * *

Jane blew his cheeks out irritably when he put the phone down. Manny wasn't taking his calls, or returning his messages. Jane just hoped Manny hadn't gotten out of his depth again. Although Jane had rescinded access to most of his bank accounts, Manny still had a fair amount of working capital to play with. In some ways the money was a secondary issue; a few days in Reno would soon fix any shortfall. Always assuming he could get out of this god dammed hellhole in the first place, which was precisely why he needed to contact Manny.

Although things had calmed down to some extent, the regulatory authorities had been all over the establishment after such a serious incident. Luis and Eric had been suspended over the drug taking, although they denied any culpability, and Jerry was unlikely to be back any time soon, especially as he'd lodged a negligence claim against the facility.

Needless to say others had stepped up to fill their boots, and security had been increased to the extent that it felt more like a prison than a medical facility. From Jane's perspective the one good thing was that the sex offenders were now languishing back in jail, rather than polluting their airspace. Everyone was glad to see the back of them, even the guards. No one had guessed who was behind the attack; it was taken at face value that the men had acted off their own initiative. Sam had asked Jane outright what he knew about it. When Jane glibly responded he'd heard things, but it wasn't his job to report them, Sam let the matter drop despite his suspicions.

Jane was aware that the trustees were in attendance, but curiously the patients had been kept well away from them. No doubt this was just another tick box exercise to keep the lawyers and insurers happy. Nevertheless Jane kept a wary eye on the newcomers comings and goings, hoping for a chance to have his say. He'd even considered activating the fire alarm to engineer a meeting, but would bide his time for now. The trustees offered him his best chance of getting out of here and it wouldn't do to antagonise them. If only he could get hold of Manny...

The one unexpected dividend was the return of Agent Lisbon, albeit accompanied by that caveman Bosco. It was only because he was assured that Agent Lisbon would be present, that Jane agreed to see the CBI. He eyed the odd couple up with amusement as they entered the room, bumping into each other in the doorway, neither prepared to cede authority to the other.

With a glimmer in his eye, Jane leant forward and took the hand that Lisbon proffered, bringing it up to his lips before she could offer any resistance. "Enchanté Agent Lisbon." His eyes wrinkled at her obvious embarrassment; Bosco's grunt of disapproval at the smarmy greeting was the icing on the cake. Not in the mood to be rebuffed again, Jane just gave Bosco the briefest nod of acknowledgement.

Bosco took some satisfaction from seeing Jane's bruised face. "What happened to you? Been shooting that mouth of yours off again?"

Jane shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. "Oh is that the official line? Let's just say I'm hors de combat, having met with an immovable object." He glared up at the observation panel, sorely tempted to stir things.

Lisbon didn't miss his grimace, or the none too subtle glare at the window. "Do you want to talk about this?"

"What good would it do?" He averted his glance, unprepared for Lisbon's show of concern.

"If you've been attacked, they should do something about it." For all Jane's faults, Lisbon couldn't condone that sort of treatment.

Bosco rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Save your sympathy for someone who deserves it. He's beaten the rap once, so what if he gets roughed up a bit?"

"I was cleared of all charges by 12 good men and true." Jane responded coolly. "Though I dare say you'd have happily watched me take my last breath, strapped down to a gurney."

"Watched, I'd have done up the buckles myself." Bosco wasn't normally the vengeful type, but made an exception in Jane's case.

"Oh well, at least your position is clear. What about you agent Lisbon, would you have me languishing on death row at the whim of some prison governor, trying to make a name for himself? Or perhaps you're more interested in justice being served?"

"We just do our job; it's out of our hands after that." Lisbon shuffled uncomfortably at being made to face the consequences of their actions. "You've got nothing to worry about if you're innocent."

Jane just shook his head at her misplaced faith in the system."Such touching naïveté Teresa. The bourgeoisie have stripped the halo off the hallowed institutions. They're all in it for themselves these days, too busy serving mammon to worry about some nobler purpose. What sort of justice system conspires to keep a man under lock and key despite acquittal?"

"Oh save it for the matinee Dorothy! It sounds like something straight out of the communist manifesto." Bosco had heard enough.

"Umm give or take a few words." Jane conceded.

"Surely your attorney should be attending to that?" Lisbon had been surprised he hadn't walked free.

"He's temporarily indisposed at the moment." Jane chose not to elaborate further.

"Maybe you should change your attorney." Lisbon suggested in all seriousness.

"Oh what's this, good cop, bad cop?" With the exception of Sam, Jane's world was largely devoid of any human warmth, and Jane's default setting was cynicism, even when people were trying to help him.

His eyes drifted over to the door, where one of the trustees was looking through the window, taking an interest in proceedings. "Why Agent Lisbon I do believe you have a secret admirer. No not you Agent Bosco, although much as she tries to ignore it, she's aware of your secret longings. There's clearly some unresolved tension between you."

Bosco's face was thunderous, he couldn't respond without acknowledging the veracity of the statement.

"Oh don't look surprised Agent Lisbon; it's hardly a secret the way he looks at you. There's something primal about his infatuation, it probably started off innocently enough, a mentor perhaps? No doubt your eagerness to learn and your prodigious work rate impressed him to start with. Despite your tomboy swagger there's a damaged intensity to you that brings out your feminine side. It's catnip to men of a certain age."

Bosco leant forward menacingly." Why you..."

Lisbon reached over to his arm. "Oh hush Bosco, he's just messing with your head to see if you'll bite, just ignore it."

"Oh Teresa! You have to spoil the fun every time. It's not as if there's anything else to do in this godforsaken hole. Oh well, I guess if you haven't come here to shoot the breeze, we ought to press on. " Jane was tiring of the charade already.

Lisbon noted that Jane had one eye on the observation panel all the time they were speaking, although he denied all knowledge of Jerry's attack and refused to elaborate on his own injuries. Lisbon came away from the interview with a feeling that something was very wrong with the institution, and her investigative antennae were twitching to find out more.

After failing to agree whose car to travel in, Lisbon and Bosco had travelled independently. It was a joint investigation and Lisbon was determined Bosco wasn't going to dictate the agenda. "I'm going to hang around a while longer to see what I can find out, I'll see you back at base."

"Bah! You're wasting your time, it's a cut and dried case, they caught the culprits. As for Goldilocks the sooner I can wipe that smile off his face the better."

They had both assiduously ignored the elephant in the room; Bosco had been an open book to Lisbon on that score for years, but something about this case had rattled him."Samuel Bosco what on earth has gotten into you? I barely recognise the cop that taught me to follow the evidence and track down every lead. I'm only doing what you taught me. When did you become so cynical?"

Bosco had the good grace to look embarrassed. "I'm just saying Teresa, be careful. This place gives me the creeps."

* * *

The trustees of the institute were establishing how procedures had become so lax, but that wasn't really any of the CBI's concern. However Lisbon met a wall of silence with all her enquiries, and became more certain that there was more to this than met the eye. Finally having drawn a blank, she made her way out to the small gravelled car park set in the quadrangle. She immediately recognised the slim uniformed figure, ruefully examining the side of one of the cars. He looked up at the sound of her footfall on the gravel.

"Sam isn't it?" Lisbon noted the scratch marks down the side of the car. "I take it this isn't an isolated incident?"

Sam inhaled deeply considering his response; he took a long look round the courtyard. "No this is just the tip of the iceberg."

"I thought as much. Was the attack on your colleague just lax security or part of the bigger picture? Surely it's unusual for patients and staff to be targeted?" Lisbon dangled a speculative line hoping for a bite.

"If you have dangerous people around these things can happen. Some of the staff go out of their way to antagonise them, so perhaps there was an element of revenge. As for your second question there's a lot of things happening here that shouldn't be. Hopefully the trustees will sort it out before it gets completely out of hand." Sam's serious manner left Lisbon in no doubt that her suspicions were well founded.

"So what happened with Patrick Jane? I'm guessing his injuries are more extensive than he's letting on."

"They say he slipped in the bath, but he was half drowned when I found him. Patrick's coy about the details, but I have no doubt it was some form of punishment. He never knows when to let things go." Sam started to open up more, instinctively trusting Lisbon.

"So who else was involved?" Lisbon gently probed.

Sam glanced around. "Miller, Jerry and two of the night staff."

Lisbon's ears pricked up. "Jerry? Was that a coincidence?"

"I couldn't possibly comment." Sam raised an eyebrow, letting his thoughts be known on the matter.

Lisbon took out her card and slipped it to Sam. "Look, call me any time if there's anything you want."

Sam nodded in thanks, then grimaced at the sound of the alarm bell ringing. "Sorry got to go."

Lisbon's eyes lingered appreciatively on his retreating form, his all American boy good looks and soft manners brought out a protective streak in her. She jumped with a start when she heard a voice pipe up from behind her. "Such a shame, all the good ones are either married or gay."

She turned around to see the speaker occupying a bench in a shady nook, with his some heavy tome on his lap. He peered over the top of his half rimmed glasses, in the direction of Sam's retreating figure."The last of the boy scouts, it's fairly obvious who blew the whistle and called the police in."

Gathering herself together, she pointedly looked at his finger, and then looked him straight in the face. "No ring I see, so what does that make you?"

A low chuckle. "Aah but I never said I was good." He leant forward conspiratorially and whispered to Lisbon. "In fact I make a habit of behaving badly whenever the opportunity presents itself."

Lisbon felt decidedly flustered and the colour of her pale complexion heightened. His eyes crinkled in amusement at her discomfort. Reverting to a mock Irish accent her tormentor teased. "Aah, for shame on me, that's no way to be treating a good catholic girl like yourself."

Lisbon looked him over with a more than professional curiosity. The slightly bookish clothing hung off his angular frame in the insouciant way that only the most elegant of men can carry off. The foppish mane of hair, slightly greying at the temples, was swept carelessly to one side. It framed a slim but lined face that was dominated by an aquiline nose and strong dark brows, it all lent a very distinguished air to the man in question. He wasn't good looking by conventional standards, but coupled with the timbre of his deep voice, there was a magnetism to him that Lisbon found disturbingly attractive.

He uncrossed his long legs carefully and extended a long fingered hand to her."Excuse my rudeness, let me introduce myself. I'm Dr Rubin. I'm one of the directors of the facility, I spend most of my time lecturing at Stanford, but exceptional circumstances have necessitated some hands on time here. I'm sure you're aware of the circumstances Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon shook his hand, taking the man in more circumspectly this time, realising their paths might cross professionally. "Good to meet you Dr Rubin. I'm afraid my visit here isn't entirely for pleasure either."

"I'm sure it isn't. If I were to speculate, I would guess that you're more open minded to following your instincts than your colleague, who favours a blunt instrument. Something feels off to you, and you just can't put your finger on it."

He paused briefly to assess her reaction. "You're in a quandary over the tragic widower. Despite all logic, something is holding you back from believing he's your man. Although not immune to his charms, you're professional enough to see beyond that, but it's still hard to reconcile such angelic looks with a cold hearted killer."

The accuracy of his statement was unnerving; Lisbon just hoped he hadn't read her earlier thoughts, but the knowing look on his face made her feel transparent to him.

Finally he broke the spell. "Do tell my dear. Is he guilty or not?"

"You tell me, you're the expert. How can a man erase all memory of his family?" Lisbon countered defensively.

"Well of course they're not erased, they're still there waiting to be brought back with the right therapy." Rubin eyed her up speculatively, as if wondering how much she'd understand.

"You mean like regression therapy where you take someone back to help them recall the past?" Lisbon was rewarded with a look of approval.

"Top of the class Agent Lisbon. That's exactly what I mean." His interest was piqued by her ability to make lateral connections.

"But isn't there a danger of planting false memories by doing that, and if it were so obvious why didn't Dr Miller follow that route?" Lisbon was thinking on her feet now, trying to retrieve her scant knowledge of the subject.

Rubin cleared his throat . "I'm sure you'll understand professional etiquette prevents me from giving you a straight answer to that question. I'm sure Dr Miller had her reasons."

He finally stood up and towered over Lisbon, not stooping like so many tall people did."Anyhow Agent Lisbon I must bid you farewell for now, but I'm sure our paths will cross again over the next few weeks. Adieu." She watched as he made his way across the quadrangle, his book tucked under his arm and his head held high. Lisbon's eyes followed him until he disappeared into the building, she determined to find out more about Dr Rubin, so she was better prepared should their paths cross again.

* * *

Dr Miller had been keeping a low profile since the trustees had been on site. Luis and Eric had been suspended over the drugs, and she was wary that they might start singing to save their skins. It could all fall apart very quickly. To compound her problems, her publishers weren't happy with the preliminary chapters submitted, apparently they lacked bite, and there were rumblings about her returning the advance that she'd already spent.

The last thing she wanted was an encounter with Patrick Jane at this juncture, but she had to try and push things forward. Not wishing to be overheard, she surreptitiously made her way down to his room and entered unannounced, quietly pulling the door closed behind her.

"I believe it's customary to knock before entering a gentleman's room." Jane was stretched out on his bed, focussing on an interesting stain on the ceiling.

Miller dragged a chair over and sat next to him. "I always knew you were a charlatan, but gentleman is stretching it a bit too far. Besides there's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Well I assume you haven't come here to ravish me, so what brings you to my humble abode Sophie?" He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Oh, you think you're so clever don't you? You may have fooled the others, but I know who engineered the attack on Jerry. The police said the offenders seemed distant and unresponsive, when they picked them up." Miller was determined to let Jane know she had his measure.

"I have to admit there was a certain Karma to it. How is poor Jerry by the way?" Jane didn't insult Miller's intelligence with a denial, but his mock politeness was starting to grate.

"As if you care. Look, if you want out of here, you're going to have to co-operate. I'll never sign you off until I get what I want out of you." Miller saw no point beating about the bush.

"From what I've heard it may not be up to you for much longer." Jane's eyes were firmly fixed on the mark on the ceiling.

"I only have to say the word and we can step your treatment up. Drugs will soon loosen your tongue, and one way or another I'll solve this conundrum. With or without your help. You think the trustees can save you? Think again Patrick. They're not interested in individual cases. You'll rot in here for as long as I say so." The words were delivered with a monotone efficiency, the effect was chilling.

Jane swung his legs round and pulled himself up so he was right in her face, so his words had maximum impact. "There's a special corner of hell reserved just for you Dr Miller. You'll rue the day you admitted me to your facility mark my words."

"I do hope that's not a threat Patrick?" Miller kept her cool, eyeballing him back unblinkingly.

Jane leant in menacingly. "Call it more of a promise. Let me go or live with the consequences."

"That sounds very much like a declaration of war to me Patrick. Very well don't say I didn't warn you." Miller stood up to leave, sounding very much cooler than she felt. Her insides were in turmoil, she hadn't wanted to go down this route, but with everything closing in on her what choice was there?

She passed Dr Rubin in the corridor, wondering what had brought him snooping round this part of the facility. There was no time to lose, as soon as she sat down at her desk she logged into her computer and brought up Jane's case notes, then reached for a book from her bookshelf. She needed to brush up on her skills before trying this, Patrick Jane would be a hard nut to crack.


	7. Chapter 7 : Closed Doors

**Chapter 7 – Closed Doors**

The soft tinkling of a piano was the preferred accompaniment to his reverie; he would drift away transported by the lilting melodies, only to be brought back crashing down to earth by the more discordant sounds of a novice playing; the slightly off key renditions would make him settle back into his pillow with a heavy sigh.

Little things were starting to spark in Jane's memory, which for all their comforting familiarity made him uneasy. Sensory triggers that he couldn't explain would set off a reaction; the scent of the coal tar soap would send a shiver down his spine. A bout of melancholia could be induced by the piped music, in a way that defied all reason.

Jane knew that these and other random recollections were linked with a past that was locked behind an increasingly leaky membrane. The one thing he was absolutely sure of, was that he wanted to be far away from Dr Miller when his memories finally returned. For all his bravado, he recognised Miller had the upper hand and he needed to act quickly.

He quickly penned another letter to the PO Box that his private investigators used in Sacramento. Jane had a longstanding relationship with private investigators, if his 'psychic' skills failed to impress a prospective client, he wasn't averse to backing up his skills with hard information. Some of these marks had serious money to burn and a bit of research paid dividends.

The recent update from the P.I. hadn't exactly overjoyed him. Manny was apparently holed up with a show girl in Reno, and ignoring all calls. A visit from Tiny Knowles would soon remind Manny of his obligations. In the meantime, Jane hatched a cunning plan to escape with the help of young Karl the hacker. It had been all too easy for Karl to hack the security systems and loop the cameras for an hour, allowing Jane an escape route, using a security pass lifted from one of the night staff. Jane had studied the routines for weeks and knew the best way out; at that time of night there was little need for secrecy, he could simply borrow a jacket and walk out of the door.

Any self respecting Carnie knew how to hot wire a car, the older and less sophisticated the model the better. It was just his luck that Nurse Carter had left her house keys in her locker that night, and had turned back when she was half way home. She pulled up in the car park just in time to see Patrick Jane leaving the building, and raised the alarm. Unfit after a period of confinement, he was no match for the younger, fitter attendants, who soon apprehended him.

The news spread round the staff and inmates like wildfire, Sam turned away in frustration on hearing the news. _Damn it Patrick why do you have to be so stupid?_

In truth Sam couldn't make his mind up, whether he was more annoyed with Jane for trying to escape or for getting caught. There would be repercussions, and Miller had a heart of stone where Jane was concerned.

It was obvious that Carter was in cahoots with Miller, and they were all looking very pleased with themselves. Jane was finally brought through to join the group, with his ankles shackled more for effect than anything. He adopted a swagger that belied his bitter disappointment, grinning at everyone as he walked in, just shrugging as he passed Sam.

Miller called everyone to attention. "I'm sorry to tell you that we're losing one of our patients today, we've gone as far with him as we could." She smiled in Jane's direction, the other patients looked concerned on Jane's behalf, but Miller's revenge was more subtle. She nodded in the direction of the door and two Federal Agents entered and marched up to Karl. "Karl Olson we're arresting you for breaching the terms of your probation. You'll be transferred to the Folsom State Prison with immediate effect."

Karl looked round at Jane in a blind panic. Jane tried to step forward but was restrained by security. "You can't do this, let him go."

Miller enjoyed her sweet revenge. "Patrick when are you going to learn there are consequences? It amused you to have Karl hack the systems, but now Karl will pay the price for your games."

Jane's feeble attempts to defend Karl were disdainfully brushed aside by Miller. "Oh Patrick, you barely know how to turn a computer on, it's patently obvious you had help. Besides we have a witness." Miller's eyes inadvertently flicked over in Max's direction. Max had every reason to keep in Miller's good books, and still harboured a grudge against Jane.

* * *

A trip to the State Capitol, where she'd glad-handed the great and good in one of the periodic drives to promote diversity in law enforcement, afforded Lisbon the opportunity to visit one of the better stocked bookstores. Although she remembered all the buzz words from her student days, she was the first to admit that her knowledge of criminal psychology was fairly superficial. They'd call in a specialist profiler when the case justified it, however Lisbon never believed in standing still and her meetings with Miller and Rubin had re-awoken her curiosity. A sly smile crossed her lips, besides she wanted to be on top of her game if she crossed paths with Dr Rubin again. She ran her finger along the shelf, enjoying the luxury of being able to handle the books and flick through them, as opposed to the more sterile process of buying on line.

The first book to catch her eye was _Inside the mind of the Serial Killer_ , Lisbon read the forward sceptically. 'Serial killers are people you know, they may be living next door to you. They're often well educated, polite and cordial in public settings. But deep beneath the polite and innocent looking exterior, lays a deranged sociopath that kills habitually—and without a shred of mercy or remorse.' Lisbon rolled her eyes - well that was hardly rocket science.

Her fingers alighted on _The Rise of the Psychopath._ According to the cover notes it explored the concept that the ruthless streak that many high flyers exhibited towards obstacles, could be construed as being symptomatic of psychopathic tendencies. Lisbon snorted, she could think of a few people who fitted that bill, some quite close to home. Her eye drifted along the shelves to the letter R where she paused at the snappily titled _Walk on the Wild Side_ by Dr Jack Rubin. The front cover provocatively stated 'Morals are nothing but a civilized society's attempt to tame some beast called man.' Lisbon raised an eyebrow at the chutzpah of the author, and was engrossed reading his biography when a familiar voice piped up behind her.

"A catchy title, but not one of my more serious works. However it paid for my first home, so who am I to grumble?" Dr Rubin took the book off her, and shook his head at the picture of his younger self. "I once read that middle age is like rereading a book you wrote as a callow youth. The first time around you were more rigid and certain in your impressions, in middle age you have the experience to see the subtleties that you missed first time around."

"You talk as if you were ancient." Lisbon scoffed.

"I prefer to think of myself as a fine wine maturing with age, each year adding to the depth of the experience when the cork is finally drawn." Rubin raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Lisbon smiled as she turned her back on him, and put the book back on the shelf. "It's a bit of a coincidence bumping into you here."

"No coincidence at all. I asked your colleague where I could find you and he suggested you might be here. The least you could do to reward me for my perspicacity, is to do me the honour of joining me for lunch or a coffee at least."

"Oh...I don't know, I have to be back in the office." Lisbon bit her bottom lip, weighing up whether she should stay given his connection with the mental facility.

"Come now Agent Lisbon, I'm sure they can manage without you for another hour. Besides there's a new place that I've wanted to try out for ages." His attempts at making puppy dog eyes looked so incongruous that she burst out laughing.

"One hour and I've got to go." She sent Cho a quick text to say she'd be late back.

They stopped outside a somewhat inauspicious looking building. "Ah here it is, the Cafe Nervosa." Lisbon looked confused. "Psychiatrist's joke." He smiled and opened the door for her.

A lively hour turned into an hour and a half as Rubin proved to be surprisingly entertaining company. He started by psychoanalysing the people in the bistro with comic effect. Lisbon couldn't look the poor waitress in the eye after Rubin's take on her. He just raised his eyebrows comically as the poor woman walked away, causing Lisbon to choke on her food.

It was time to turn the tables on him. Despite the potential pitfalls of the subject, Lisbon ventured into dangerous territory. "So, do you really think morals are just society's way of taming the beast, or was that just a headline grabber?"

Rubin leaned forward, looking her straight in the eye. "No I meant every word of it. Fundamentally society and religion are pre-occupied with two things, procreation and death. By elevating procreation to a sacred ritual, it sets mankind above the rest of creation. Throw in the prospect of eternal damnation for sinners at judgement day, and they've got you exactly where they want you to be. A whole mythology evolved around the concept of original sin, and sex is inexorably tinged with guilt, unless it's for the purpose of procreation. It's a denial of the basic human instinct that even the ancient philosophers recognised; Sophocles went so far as to call his libido a frantic and savage master."

This wasn't quite going the way Lisbon anticipated, Rubin was clearly unfazed by the subject. "But these traditions have served us well, why change things?"

"Perhaps in the past, but these days such social mores are largely anachronistic. If we see someone we like, we engage in some social preamble while the savage beast lurks in the wings. We flirt and smile, act coy and artfully manage the situation to the point where we finally overcome our inhibitions and let the beast prevail. It's all a charade, most people know the end game from the first tentative move, but we persist in an elaborate game in the interests of propriety." Rubin's air quotes showed what he thought of propriety.

He leaned back in his seat and quirked his lips. "Take you, I would guess you need 2 or 3 dates to assuage your catholic guilt. There's no logic to it, but it makes you feel more virtuous. The logical course of action is to say to hell with the starter and go straight for the main course."

With that Rubin took a deliberate bite on his sandwich and munched away, never taking his eyes off Lisbon.

Lisbon felt the heat rise in her, she couldn't refute his arguments. "So is this the starter or the main course?"

"It's whatever you want it to be Teresa." Rubin said softly.

Feeling less confident by now, Lisbon lowered her eyes to the table and daintily pecked at her food, feeling every mouthful she took was a metaphor for sex.

"There's no need to feel guilty Teresa, relationships are as much about opening yourself to others as they are about learning about others. You need to learn to be comfortable with your inner self before you can share it with anyone else."

With a twinkle in his eye he picked up the menu. "I guess we're skipping the main course for now, let's see what else I can tempt you with."

* * *

The atmosphere at the hospital had changed, with many of the patients blaming Jane for Karl's misfortune. They'd all gone along with his madcap schemes enjoying the ride, without thinking of the consequences. Jane was happy to take refuge in his room just emerging at mealtimes, he was all too aware it was just a matter of time before Miller made her move. After feeling unaccountably drowsy after eating, a suspicion formed in his mind that his meals were being drugged. To prove his theory he deftly switched meals with another inmate at the next sitting, and sure enough within half an hour they were decidedly docile.

Jane confided his suspicions with Sam and started refusing food, relying on snacks that Sam provided and tap water for sustenance. It forced Miller's hand again as her plan relied on lowering his defences. Jane realised the situation wasn't sustainable, but without outside help his options were limited. As a last ditch resort he dashed off a few notes addressed to the PO Box in Sacramento; desperate times justified desperate measures.

On Miller's orders Jane was now confined to his room, it was fairly obvious that someone was helping Jane, so Sam was transferred to another wing for a few days. All Jane's inputs were now controlled, even if he refused food he'd have to drink and the bottled water was laced with barbiturates. Sam was at a loss what to do and called Agent Lisbon for advice, without a pretext to visit Jane there wasn't a lot she could do, but she asked Sam to keep her in the loop.

Having decided on her plan of action, Miller needed to brush up on her skills before tackling Patrick Jane. She wanted to regress Jane back to his past, but hypnotising an unwilling subject was nigh on impossible. To induce a hypnotic state, the subject needs to be in a state where they are highly suggestible for it to succeed. Apart from delving into the hidden recesses of the subject's mind, it's also possible to implant ideas that carry over into the post hypnotic state.

Miller didn't routinely use hypnosis, and had been honing her technique on some of the more susceptible patients. She was relying on the effect of the drugs to lower Jane's resistance, and was relieved when her efforts paid off. After lulling Jane into a false sense of security in his befuddled state, she was finally able to induce him into a trance. Aware that this might take several sessions Miller implanted a trigger mechanism, to allow her to repeat the exercise more easily next time.

For all her flaws Miller was a formidable operator, she regressed Jane back to his childhood to try and delve into his formative years. Exploring the loneliness of a child brought up by a resentful father, who blamed his son for his wife's death, Miller painted a vivid picture, laying the seeds of a secret friend, who Jane could talk to when no one else was around. It was a mischievous friend that would whisper into his ear, encouraging Jane to get into all sorts of scrapes. Miller reasoned that no one should be without a mother at that age, and that his friend John looked after Jane when no one else cared.

Miller's voice was soft and insistent; she kept repeating the message trying to instil the memory in Jane's mind until the seed was firmly planted. Even if she couldn't prove her split personality theory, she had paved the way for a viable alternative.

"You're at the start of a corridor, and behind each door there's a memory of the past. I want you to slowly walk along the corridor and we'll open up the doors as we go." Miller took up her narrative by opening the first door. She started by painting a favourable picture of life at the carnival, concentrating on the more enjoyable aspects such as the rides, the animals and performers. She made a point of introducing a sweet young girl with pigtails, who watched him from a distance.

Jane frowned, the face was familiar but he couldn't remember her name.

They moved along to the next door. Jane was a teenager now with his own act, but his father was still pulling the strings. Alex had a short fuse and was loose with his fists after a few drinks, but was careful not to leave any marks, knowing Jane's face was their meal ticket. No one was going to buy a fantasy from a beat up kid. From reading the case notes, Miller knew that child protection services had been called in on more than one occasion, but Jane had refused to speak against his father.

"Everyone needs a friend sometime, someone who looks after you, who knows you better than anyone else." She let that idea hang in the air for a while, before slowly leading him along. Miller pointed out the girl, who would sneak in to watch his act, she was real pretty now, with dark blond hair, smarter than the others, and her family had money. Miller elicited an admission from Jane that he had a girlfriend, but it was a secret, no-one knew, but he couldn't remember her name.

They advanced to the next door. He'd left the carnival and times were hard, but he wasn't alone. Someone was standing barefoot in their cramped kitchen, laughing playfully as she threw something at him. Jane started to tense up, refusing to acknowledge the scenario, although it was undeniably the girl from the carnival again.

Behind the next door things were looking up again, money was pouring in, and he could indulge in flashy suits and fancy cars. There was laughter in the background, a child's. Miller described the woman and child perfectly based on photographs that she'd seen, and painted a comfortable scene of domesticity. Jane's hands were flexing furiously, as he tried to resist the memories, but he was only delaying the inevitable.

"You can't ignore it Patrick, remember, you must remember..." There was a slight edge to Miller's voice now as she pushed harder.

Jane shook his head violently "No, No!"

"You know who it is Patrick, surely you must remember your own wife and daughter.." Miller jumped back in surprise, as he leapt up and started to get agitated, banging on the locked door.

"Just stop it! I've had enough, leave me alone!" He turned on Miller, his eyes darkened ominously.

Miller swallowed hard at the sudden change of mood, realising that the situation could easily escalate out of control, the need for secrecy had compromised her safety. Without further delay, she released him from his trance. She'd implanted the means to facilitate the next session, and she'd take precautions before they opened the final door.

Left to his own devices, Jane's memories started flooding back in. Until now there'd been an emotional disconnect between what he'd been told and reality, it had just been an abstract notion having a family, nothing to do with him. The bonds of flesh and blood were slowly being re-forged, but each new memory was laced with poison, and short lived. The magnitude of his loss started to hit home, and he was tossed up by a tsunami of grief onto the desolate shores of despondency.

* * *

Although Lisbon was aware her involvement with Rubin could pose a potential conflict of interest, she was intoxicated by his charisma, and the frisson of excitement at the hint of something slightly licentious. She began to question why her earlier relationships had all foundered, on paper they'd ticked all the right boxes, but she realised that she wasn't satisfied with the ordinary.

Her resolve had soon wilted, who was counting anyhow?

The team noticed the change in her, Rigsby commented on the _Lisbon got laid bounce_ in her step and speculated who the lucky guy was, before being firmly put in his place by Van Pelt, who told him it was none of his business.

Even Minelli noticed that she was starting later and leaving earlier, although she still put in more hours than most. With a fatherly concern, he noted that she looked tired at times and wondered if she was sickening for something.

Although he'd covered for her a few times, Bosco could sense the change in her. It aroused a primordial resentment in him that manifested in a more abrasive manner toward her, matters finally came to a head when Lisbon failed to suppress a yawn in a briefing in the bullpen.

"Tired again, maybe you should try sleeping at night?" Bosco snarked.

Van Pelt flared up at him."I hardly think that's an appropriate thing to say in the workplace."

Bosco looked her up and down like some ingénue."Get over yourself. That's what they're all thinking." He jerked his head in Cho and Rigsby's direction.

Cho and Rigsby shuffled uncomfortably at being called out on their thoughts, the Boss had a right to a private life after all.

Lisbon stalked into her office with Bosco not far behind. He pulled the door behind him and closed the blinds; someone had to tell Lisbon how it looked. They'd all noticed tell tale marks, it didn't matter that it was none of their business, people talk, and reputations soon get tarnished.

Moreover Bosco had seen Lisbon out and about with Rubin, in his mind he wasn't snooping, just keeping a friendly eye out for her. With Patrick Jane out of the picture for now, Bosco transferred his dislike from Jane to Rubin, one smart Alec for another.

"Teresa, as a friend I'm telling you that you need to sort your act out. Do you want to put all your hard work at risk for some passing infatuation? No doubt he'll be shown the door before long." Although his motivation may not have been entirely innocent, Bosco didn't want Lisbon doing something she would regret later.

Lisbon flared up. "That's good coming from you Sam. For years you followed me round like a horny teenager. Do you honestly think I didn't hear the rumours about how I'd gotten on? Did you worry about my reputation then? Why do you think I left SFPD in the first place? I never got credit for anything I did because people thought I was your pet."

Bosco flushed. "Nothing happened."

"No because I moved away. Look at yourself Sam before you start throwing stones." She bit her bottom lip until it turned white, as she gathered her thoughts together. "If I have let my professional standards drop slightly, after years of being the first in and last to leave, I would have hoped that my colleagues would have cut me some slack. I'm not Robocop, I have feelings just like everyone else.

"I've always made a point of not letting my private and professional life overlap until now. Here I am in my thirties with nothing material to show for it all, still living in a rented condo and no personal life to speak of, because I have to work just a little bit harder to prove myself. There's no one cooking me meals and doing my laundry Sam - so if for once in my life I let my hair down, who are you to judge me?"

Bosco stuffed his hands in his pocket, accepting the injustice of it, but the fact remained that people were talking and it was his responsibility to tell her how it was.

* * *

Miller turned warily at the sound of footsteps approaching her in the dark car park, it was with a sense of relief that she saw Luis standing there. "What are you doing lurking round here? You know you're not supposed to be here."

"Heard that someone was planning to sell me down the river to save their own skin." Luis stepped menacingly towards her.

"Nonsense. Who told you that?" Miller suddenly felt very vulnerable in the deserted car park.

"A little bird sent me a letter." He jabbed his finger at her as he spoke. "I'm telling you, we're in this together. If I go down I'm taking you with me." The intimidating characteristics that Miller had happily exploited when it suited her, were now being directed against her.

"Someone's playing you. For heaven's sake haven't you got the common sense to see that?" Miller snapped impatiently.

Luis didn't like being told what to do by women at the best of times, and only put up with Miller under sufferance, but no one was going to talk down to him like that. He pushed her against the car with more force than was strictly necessary. "I'm just telling you Doc. I'm not taking heat for no bitch."

The sound of footsteps on the gravel alerted Luis of the impending arrival of the security guards, who'd seen events unfold on camera. Luis made a swift exit, leaving Miller to compose herself. There was only one person she could think of who would benefit from this. She shuddered at the prospect of another encounter with Luis, she would be glad when this was all over.


	8. Chapter 8 : There Will Be Blood

**A/N** For those of a sensitive nature, the clue is in the title...

* * *

 **Chapter 8: There will be blood**

The furrow of concentration between Lisbon's eyebrows deepened as she scoured the case notes looking for any possible clue that they might have missed. With no new leads on the Red John case it was taking a back seat to more pressing issues, and with the 6 o'clock deadline fast approaching they didn't get more pressing than this case. For all their exhaustive case work they still hadn't made a breakthrough, and the kidnappers were threatening to kill the hostages if the parents didn't pay up. They all knew that even if the parents paid up a happy outcome was by no means guaranteed, so they were desperate for a breakthrough.

Rubin sauntered into the bullpen unexpectedly, there'd been a trustees meeting that morning in Sacramento so he had an excuse to visit his favourite agent. Lisbon raised her eyebrows enquiringly, although it wasn't a great secret she preferred to keep her private life out of the office, and she hardly had time for a diversion at this juncture no matter how pleasant.

"I come bearing gifts." Rubin held up a paper carrier bag from the upmarket deli, which was full of Lisbon's favourites. He cast his eyes around the team, mentally identifying each of them without introduction, based solely on Lisbon's description. Finally his eyes settled on Van Pelt. "Ah you must be Grace, exquisite as a Rossetti redhead." Van Pelt squirmed in embarrassment at the unsolicited compliment, and much to Lisbon's amusement looked apprehensively in her direction.

Rigsby's face was thunderous as he turned to Cho, muttering creep out of the corner of his mouth. Cho responded with an enigmatic smile, keeping his eyes firmly on his paperwork.

Deciding to put Grace out of her misery Lisbon breezily responded. "I assure you we employ Van Pelt for her brains not her beauty, she's our resident computer geek." Van Pelt bristled with pride; praise from Lisbon was a rare commodity and was valued more than anything Rubin could say.

Rubin glanced at the case board. "So this is the case that's been keeping you so busy." He cast his eye over the whiteboard more methodically. "Have you made any progress yet?"

Cho's ears pricked up, he was well aware of Rubin's reputation in criminal psychology. "Nothing to speak of. The deadline is tonight. Can you see anything?"

Rubin tapped his chin thoughtfully, then took the photograph of the brunette off the board. "If you look closely the eyes are a little bit too close together. She's clearly resentful of her prettier friend, who has everything going for her. The boys only talk to her to get closer to her friend. It would kill two birds with one stone if she could get rid of her friend, and get enough money to set herself up for life in the process."

"She's been kidnapped for Christ's sake, her parents are worried sick." Rigsby butted in irritably.

Cho was interested. "No go on. You think she's involved with the kidnapping somehow?"

"Just a hunch." Rubin studied the family snaps. "See there's no familial resemblance at all - she's probably adopted and has no affinity with her adoptive parents."

Cho looked at Van Pelt for affirmation. "He's right. Kayleigh Masterson was abandoned by her mother as an infant, and was adopted by the Masterson's soon after. She has a history of minor misdemeanours, nothing serious but she's a troubled girl."

Cho stood behind Van Pelt while she pulled up Kayleigh's file on screen and they decided a plan of action. Even Rigsby showed a grudging respect, not liking Rubin, but still grateful for the lead.

"Ah well, I must go. Let me know how it works out." Lisbon nodded gratefully in Rubin's direction as he left them to their work.

The team went into overdrive and the case was soon solved without any casualties, an unrepentant Kayleigh would be spending the foreseeable future behind bars.

Later that night when she'd finally wrapped everything up, Lisbon called Rubin to let him know the outcome. "I think I owe you a meal after that."

"What's on the menu?" Rubin teased.

"Whatever you want." Lisbon replied enigmatically.

Lisbon had soon realised that there was more than a touch of the libertine to Rubin, it surprised her to find that her boundaries were more flexible than she thought. A new life opened up to her that would have surprised her closest colleagues, but she reasoned that they were consenting adults and not doing anyone else any harm. Lithe yet surprisingly strong, Rubin bent her to his will.

She was surprised how quickly she'd gotten in so deep, it wasn't as if Rubin dressed his interest up with romantic intent, but there was a mesmerising quality to him that drew her in. He made no promises to her, for all she knew he wasn't even exclusive, but while she was with him conventions meant little to her.

Like the Maestro of an orchestra he knew how to elicit the maximum sensation from each movement, varying the tempo as the pitch changed from the rumbling low notes of desire to the trembling high notes of arousal, awakening an almost painful symphony of sensations as the nerves endings exploded in one final crescendo.

He challenged her perceptions with his moral nihilism, contending that nothing was intrinsically right or wrong, the principles she held dear were merely society's expectations rather than universal truths. Much to his amusement her hand would instinctively go to her crucifix when she was troubled; she was far less comfortable with his moral quirks than his sexual peccadilloes. Lisbon still believed there was an inviolable link between someone's earthly actions and their destiny, but Rubin would gently mock her lack of sophistication when she tried to counter his assertions.

She had no illusions that she was anything but a passing diversion to Rubin, but nevertheless she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Unable to resist the draw and not wanting to either.

* * *

Against Miller's express wishes, security had reported the incident with Luis to the police. Lisbon had welcomed the opportunity to revisit the establishment as it gave her an excuse to see Patrick Jane again. It was obvious from the outset that Miller wanted to let things drop, so after going through the formalities Lisbon changed tack. "If you don't want to take this any further, I've just got a few loose ends to tie up with Patrick Jane."

Miller shifted uneasily. "What do you want with Patrick? I thought you'd moved on."

"New information has surfaced that I'm not at liberty to discuss. I need to see Patrick Jane." Lisbon wasn't inclined to justify herself to Miller.

"Well you can't, he's indisposed. You should have told us you wanted to speak to him." Miller folded her arms defiantly.

"I can see him, and I will see him. Even if I have to get a warrant brought over here. Anyone would think you had something to hide." Lisbon narrowed her eyes examining Miller's expression, she looked guilty as hell. Sam was right there was something going on.

Miller laughed. "As you wish, but he's had a bad few days now that his memories are returning, and we've had to medicate him. I doubt you'll find him forthcoming."

Lisbon wasn't sure what to expect, but she was unprepared for the empty shell of a man disconsolately slumped in the chair. He raised his head slowly, like some noble primate defeated by the indignity of his situation. The red rimmed eyes engaged with Lisbon's. She wilted under his unwavering gaze, the unspoken accusation hitting home more effectively than any words could ever have done. Torn by mixed emotions about the man, who may or may not have murdered his family, she felt a sense of shame that they hadn't respected the decision of the jury and afforded him greater protection. As the saying went, the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to stand by and do nothing.

Releasing her from his accusatory stare, Jane lowered his eyes and withdrew back into his silent fury. Lisbon knew she'd get nothing more out of Patrick Jane, the system had conspired to drive him into a dark and disturbing void. Miller's self satisfied smile was a dead giveaway, this was undoubtedly her doing.

* * *

Miller was far from finished with Jane, she'd deliberately allowed Jane time to come to terms with his delayed grief, and the more he remembered before the final session the better. As Jane was surly and unresponsive with everyone else, Sam had been drafted back in as the only person who seemed to have any influence over Jane. But even he made little headway, Jane barely ate or drank having no interest in life or in this world.

For all his sorrow at the memories that haunted him, there was a nagging voice at the back of his mind that filled him with a sense of dread, suggesting that the worst was yet to come. He had no idea where this voice had come from, but it would whisper dark thoughts that Jane didn't think he was capable of. He loathed Miller with a vengeance for what she had put him through, he still hoped his carefully laid plans would pay dividends on that front, but there were times when he felt he could squeeze the life out of her without any compunction.

He'd always been a rogue, with little or no conscience about parting people from their money, but this feeling of violent rage was something new. The once brilliant morning star that eclipsed all others had been cast down to earth and was a dark shadow of his former self.

Mindful of Jane's outburst at their last encounter, Miller took the precaution of having Jane shackled to his chair before she started what would hopefully be the final session. Unable to resist the trigger that Miller had implanted in the previous session, Jane was soon back in a trance. They were back in the corridor and there was just one door left, he tried to look away but Miller's voice was insistent in drawing him ever closer to the door. Jane swallowed hard when forced to read the note on the door, although he already knew what lay behind the door, he shied away from opening it.

"You know what's behind there Patrick, but let's consider events leading up to this. There were reports of a disturbance earlier in the day – perhaps in the privacy your home things were said and done that you regret, and something snapped inside you."

"No! I'd never hurt Angela or Charlotte." He responded emphatically.

"Perhaps, but what if it wasn't you? Maybe the anger unleashed something dark and dangerous from the recesses of your psyche. Those voices that you normally discount as the mere rumblings of discontent started to shout down your logic – the sound was deafening as the voices pummelled away at your defences, and bolstered your sense of injustice. How dare they speak to you like that after all you've done for them? So ungrateful! So unfair!"

Jane screwed his eyes up tight and clamped his hands over his ears, unwilling to suffer the insidious effect of Miller's poison.

"You know there's some truth to what the voices are saying. You can't deny you haven't thought it from time to time. Just look around at what you've given them, and yet they still complain about the hours you work. Don't they know these things cost money? You have to keep working at it - today's headliner is tomorrow's has been. You do it for them. It's time you stood up for yourself. Honestly they would test the patience of a saint...and you're no saint are you Patrick?" She paused briefly for dramatic effect. "It's time to open the door now, just push it open and tell me what you see."

"No, I can't!" He shook his head vehemently, but her voice drew his attention back to the scene.

"There's something respectful about the way the bodies have been positioned, almost like an act of love. You didn't want to do it, they made you do it."

Getting increasingly more agitated, Jane started to rock backwards and forwards. "Just stop it. I didn't do it. I'd never do that!"

"No, but John would. Remember John your secret friend, the one you keep hidden from everyone? Maybe John couldn't stand to see everyone taking advantage of you and took control."

She paused to let that sink in, before taking up the narrative speaking very slowly and persuasively. "He's there now isn't he? Probably telling you what he'd like you to do to me, I can see it in your eyes. Just let John out Patrick, and you'll feel better. It wasn't you that killed them, it was John. It was John that cut them and let them bleed to death. No mother should have to see her child die like that, and listen to their cries unable to help them. She didn't understand it wasn't you but John, and went to her grave believing that you that had killed her. The only way to clear this up, is to bring John out into the open once and for all. John reveal yourself, stop hiding in the shadows."

The red mist descended, no man could listen to that without being affected. Jane launched himself across the table, grabbing her by the neck and slowly tightening his grip. Miller hit her panic button, and struggled against him, only the table between them stopping him from getting enough leverage to do any lasting damage. He was like a deranged beast when the attendants finally dragged him away. Oddly Miller felt a sense of exhilaration from the adrenaline rush, and derived satisfaction from knowing that others seeing Jane in that state would back up her theory of Jane's alter ego.

Jane was distraught at the vision that Miller had conjured up, that he or some part of him had killed his family. For sure, he always knew he had a dark side. His callous disregard for people outside his inner circle allowed him to view everyone else as marks, but he'd always looked after his own. He had no doubt that this dark side came from his father, having seen the depths his father would go to when crossed. Suddenly the idea of committing such a heinous crime while possessed, no longer seemed beyond the realms of possibility.

He'd contemplated ending it all, not wanting to live with the memories that haunted him. Jane was fatalistic enough to know that death was the end, there'd be no touching reunions on the other side. The end was the end. But what a blessed release it would be to be freed from this torment, even if he didn't deserve to be freed.

Jane's imagination ran riot, picking up on Miller's carefully planted suggestions. Before long all he could see was blood everywhere, his darling Charlotte and Angela painted in shades of red. His hands were dripping with their blood, and he knew that all great Neptune's ocean wouldn't wash their blood from his hands.

* * *

Miller was uncharacteristically animated after the positive feedback from her publishers, the latest developments had been well received and she'd secured a further advance. With a derisory glance around her, she was counting down time to the day when she could say goodbye to the drudgery of day to day therapy.

Sadly her celebrations were to be short lived, as unknown to her Luis had received another incendiary letter about Miller. Coming on top of a visit from the police, he was now convinced that Miller was setting him up as the fall guy, and no one messed with Luis, especially not some jumped up bitch, who looked down on everyone. It was his word against hers and he knew who they'd believe. Of course dead people can't talk...

With her head still in the clouds she drove down to the main gates, contemplating a rosy future in some academic cloister, well away from the front line. Security remotely opened the gates as she approached them, she tried to slow down before the main road, but the brakes were unresponsive and the car shot out into the freeway. Miller desperately fought to try and bring the car back under control, but when the oncoming truck caught her rear end, imparting a new momentum she had no chance. As if in slow motion the car lurched off the freeway, crashing through the barrier and ending up in the lake. She tried in vain to open the doors, but the outside pressure held them closed. As much as she fought it, there was no escaping the encroaching waters that filled her watery jail. As sheer terror set in, her oxygen starved brain succumbed to the involuntary impulse to take a breath. Now she knew how Patrick Jane had felt.

Back in the hospital Patrick Jane was totally unaware that his fiendish plan had come to fruition, he was too wrapped up in his own travails to be remotely aware of the poetic justice meted out to Miller. It had all come too late for him, the damage was irretrievably done.

Once the cut brake pipes were confirmed by forensics, it fell to the CBI to investigate Miller's murder. Although Jane clearly had a motive he was soon discounted once they saw the state of him, believing he had neither the means nor ability to instigate the crime. Miller's book may never be finished, but her legacy was to take an already troubled man and make him believe he was a serial killer.

* * *

Although Lisbon never brought up her work when she was with Rubin, he had a habit of casually leading the conversation back to her current cases, and would offer a professional insight without being asked. In truth Lisbon was coy about discussing her work with him, as it would invariably result in him launching into a detailed analysis, which just highlighted the yawning chasm between their worlds. While no slouch on the subject, Lisbon was less taken with the esoteric aspects than the practical applications of psychology.

Rubin's highfalutin theories also underlined the fundamental differences in their beliefs. He saw nothing wrong with the pleasure principle, arguing it was merely an expression of the id, the dark and inaccessible part of our personality that was a cauldron for our basic, instinctual drives.

There was a more reckless feel to Rubin since Miller's death and Jane's descent into madness, their relationship was increasingly more a congress of flesh than of minds. He took a perverse delight in pushing Lisbon too far, too fast, almost relishing her discomfort. For the sake of her self-respect, she knew she should cut her losses, but there was something addictive about their relationship. After this anything else would just seem so ordinary. She rationalised that everything was under control, and made sure it didn't spill over into her work. Besides what could possibly go wrong?

Rubin had been particularly interested in a new lead they'd been following on the Red John case, and Lisbon working away for a few nights in Stockton seemed to renew his ardour. She wondered if maybe she'd been a bit too available, perhaps a bit of distance was all that was required to keep the flame alight.

Rubin stretched out languidly on her sofa as she busied herself making some drinks, he was pontificating about serial killers in general, trying to elicit a response from her. Perhaps his interest had been piqued because Lisbon had been particularly unforthcoming about her trip away.

Lisbon listened to his theory that most serial killers had unhappy childhoods that psychologically damaged them, and started applying his theories specifically to Patrick Jane. Lisbon was surprised how well informed he was about the case, but rationalised that he'd probably been going through Miller's notes.

Rubin slipped easily into the mind of a serial killer as he started to break down the Red John case in chronological order, commenting how the modus operandi had evolved over time. He was getting carried away with his own insights and started to pace the room as he spoke, as if delivering a lecture. Like all natural performers he just had to push it that little bit too far, and brought up a little known fact about one of the victims, Carter Peak.

Lisbon had her back to him at the time, but must have subconsciously stopped in her tracks. They'd only just been called out to the site where Carter Peak's body had been discovered, and that particular fact wasn't public knowledge. Her mouth went dry as she considered the implications.

Falling back on her training she weighed up her options, well aware that her gun and taser were both out of reach on the other side of the room. She tried to tell herself she was overreacting, there had to be a logical explanation, nevertheless she mentally mapped out her escape routes. Play it cool Teresa, don't let him know that you've noticed anything wrong. The kitchen was a dead end and to be avoided, so she nonchalantly made her way over to her desk where she kept a back up weapon, all the while keeping half an eye on Rubin's movements.

He was still espousing his theory, although she detected a slight change in tempo, as if he was only half concentrating on what he was saying. Just as she was about to open her desk drawer she felt his presence right behind her, she scanned the desk top for any viable weapon and steeled herself for fight.

Rubin let out a weary sigh. "Sometimes Teresa you're just too sharp for your own good. Such a shame. I had high hopes of you." She felt his breath on her neck. "You really are quite lovely – what a waste."

* * *

No one at the hospital could explain how Patrick Jane escaped that night. Some siren voice had lured him through the open doors, somehow Jane knew he had to obey the call, it was his destiny. He followed the hypnotic voice without question. The car delivered him to a nondescript block of condos, and he felt a faint prick on his arm before he was bundled through the open door with the words. "There's someone waiting for you Patrick."

His head started to swirl and he dropped to the floor, the walls seemed to be closing in on him as everything spiralled out of control. A flickering image appeared before him of his family in happier times, and he tried to reach out to them, but the image had a retro feel to it like some old cine tape projection from a different era. Angela walked barefoot towards the virtual screen, her image translucent, she held her hands out in supplication."Why Patrick? Just tell me why?"

He dropped his head in shame, but feeling her gaze still upon him he raised his eyes to meet hers. "I don't know why, it must be in my nature." Angela's screams echoed in his head as she was sucked back by some invisible force, growing ever more translucent and distorted as she dissolved into the aether. A faint voice floated back from the distance "I really thought you loved me..." Jane collapsed in a heap, the cold tendrils of remorse took a grip on his heart, causing it to race uncontrollably before he finally blacked out.

When Jane awoke he noticed a light at the top of the stairs, and knew there was someone waiting for him there. The bedside light cast a pale glow on an ethereal figure, asleep like some faerie princess on the bed with her hair carefully fanned out on the pillow. She stared aimlessly into the night, her eyes unfocussed like dead green pools, the slightly parted lips giving a surprised look to the face that was unmistakably Agent Lisbon's.

Jane approached with a reverence, as if transfixed by the sight of the ghastly pallor of the exposed white skin in sharp contrast the with livid slashes, from which her lifeblood had drained. Instinctively Jane reached out for the bloody knife and stared at it, bewildered that his mind was a blank, and yet knowing beyond all doubt that he must have murdered Agent Lisbon just as he'd murdered his family. The time had come to end it all, this world held nothing but torment for him. It would be a happy release, and with two swift strokes across the wrists the deed was done. A twisted smile formed on his face as he lay back against the foot of the bed, and he traced out a smiley face in the pooling blood. "It will have blood, they say. Blood will have blood."

* * *

Cho hadn't been particularly concerned when Lisbon missed their early morning gym session, although she normally texted if she wasn't be coming. It wasn't until Rigsby called, to say that he'd been trying to contact Lisbon, to let her know that Patrick Jane had escaped, that the alarm bells started to ring. Cho dashed to Lisbon's, where he found a disgruntled neighbour hammering at the door, complaining about the sound of the piano music emanating from her condo. "That damned music has been playing all night, you'd think an officer of the law would have more consideration."

Cho rang the bell furiously, hoping against hope for an answer, before pulling out the spare key that he held for such an eventuality. He fumbled with the lock, having to turn it twice before entry. Swallowing deeply with a sense of dread, he slowly ascended the stairs having little doubt what awaited him.

Cho screwed his face up in abhorrence when he finally entered the room, fighting off the wave of nausea that welled up, it took a few moments to regain his composure. It was impossible to be detached in the circumstances but he tried his best to be professional, he owed that much to Lisbon. It was clear that both were well beyond help, the bruising on Lisbon's arms was a sure sign that she had not passed quietly into the night. For all his anger towards Patrick Jane, something at the crime scene felt off to Cho, and yet the evidence spoke for itself.

Not wishing to hang around any longer than he had to, Cho called the crime in and made his way outside, gasping for fresh air by time he reached the front door. No longer in control of his emotions, he kicked out aimlessly at the first object in his path."Dammit Lisbon, why you of all people?"

* * *

The CBI had been torn apart by Lisbon's death. Minelli resigned as soon as he decently could, he knew his heart wasn't in it any more. Bosco constantly railed against the system that had failed to put Patrick Jane away when they had the chance, he privately vowed that he'd never let technicalities stand in his way again. He grieved silently, Lisbon was never his, but a little bit of Samuel Bosco died with Teresa Lisbon.

Under Cho's leadership, the SCU team stepped up to the mark, putting personal feelings to one side they relentlessly chased down the evidence, exactly as Lisbon taught them. Despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Cho had insisted on closing out some of the open leads, often in his own time. On reflection he realised that Lisbon's door had been double locked when he'd fumbled with the lock, and the whole scenario didn't make sense if someone had locked the door from the outside. If Cho hadn't had a key, they would have just kicked the door in and no one would have been any the wiser. Rigsby told him he was just imagining things, but Cho was clinical in his recall and remembered every detail. Cho knew in his bones there was more to this than met the eye, and clung to the hope that the DNA results off Carter Peak's body might finally throw some light on the subject, after all everyone had to slip up sometime.

* * *

The hoardings had been put up on the windows of the mental hospital, the trustees deemed its reputation was irreparably damaged, and most of the staff and patients were being absorbed by nearby facilities. An unhappy chapter closed in Sam's life, too many lives had been wasted. For all the evidence to the contrary, Sam still struggled to believe everything they said about Patrick, the man he knew just wasn't like that. Sam blamed Miller for unleashing the blind rage that consumed Jane in his final days.

The finger of blame had been pointed at Sam in the wake of Jane's escape, but it was nothing to do with him. Nevertheless Sam's reputation was tarnished as he stood accused of getting too close to a patient, and his future prospects were bleak. Unexpectedly Dr Rubin had taken him under his wing, they'd gotten talking at Lisbon's funeral both feeling out of place, and heavily outnumbered by the strong police contingent that came to show their respects. The end result was that Sam had been offered a temporary position in Rubin's faculty, with the prospect of further training at the end of the contract.

Rubin emitted a self satisfied grunt as he penned the catchy title, you needed a hook that would get people interested before venturing into more serious territory. The key was to keep it accessible enough for the proletariat to read, with enough content to satisfy the critics. He had to admit Dr Miller's notes were well put together, she'd done a sterling job in pushing Patrick Jane over the edge, and providing the perfect alibi. Such a shame about Teresa, she'd been a work in progress and was just getting to the interesting stage, but needs must...

Rubin winced when he accidentally cut his finger on a sheet of paper; he watched the blood drip from the cut with a lurid fascination. He dipped the tip of his fountain pen in the fallen drop and drew out a little red smiley face, before resignedly scratching it out. "Farewell old friend, all good things must come to an end."

His thoughts turned to his latest fancy. Rubin had no particular preferences one way or another, and Sam had jumped at the chance of working with him. Sam's loyalty really was quite touching, he was like a young pup eager to please his master. Rubin chuckled lasciviously, it was so much more satisfying corrupting someone good and moulding them to your ways.

Rubin sat down at his desk with his fountain pen poised at the ready, confident his next book would be a best seller. _The Angel of Death - Inside the mind of a serial killer_

"Who knows exactly what goes on inside the mind of a serial killer, especially one as complex as Patrick Jane. The man who had everything, fame, fortune, good looks and a loving family, but something dark lurked beneath the surface, another side to him that would not be suppressed, the side that manifested itself as Red John..."

* * *

 **A/N** Many thanks to everyone who has followed this grim little tale. I'm sure it hasn't been an easy ride.

I must extend special thanks to Fiasco Way for being a sounding board throughout, and for making some great suggestions, in particular the role of Dr Rubin, which I adopted with alacrity. It was so much better than my original idea.


End file.
